ART 


NITY 


IN  HOMER 


■WILLIAM  CRANSTON  LAWTON 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


ART   AND    HUMANITY 
IN    HOMER 


.Mm 


ART  AND  HUMANITY 
IN   HOMER 


BY 

WILLIAM    CRANSTON    LAWTON 


gtin  fork 
MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND    LONDON 


^//  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1S96, 
By  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


Nortoooli  19res0 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


RIN. 

PA 

Ih4 


CL 


In  all  ILogaltj  anS  atftcttan 
To  C.  H.  L. 

Adelphi,  February,  1896. 


889179 


PREFACE 

'pHIS  group  of  essays  approached  its  pres- 
-'-  ent  form  as  a  course  of  "Extension" 
lectures.  The  little  book  is  intended  in 
part  as  an  illustration  of  the  new  educa- 
tional movement.  The  syllabus  originally 
prepared  for  the  lectures  is  reprinted  in  an 
appendix,  by  the  kind  permission  of  the 
American  Society  for  the  Extension  of 
University  Teaching.  It  is  hoped  that  most 
readers  will  be  stimulated  toward  the  wider 
course  of  Homeric  study  there  indicated. 
If  any  youthful  student  has  never  yet  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey 
at  all,  he  may  find  it  necessary  to  do  so 
before  he  can  understand  all  the  following 
pages. 

Still,  an  earnest  effort  has  been  made  to 
render  these  chapters  intelligible,  and  even 
in  a  way  complete,   in  themselves.     For 
vii 


VIU  PREFACE 

instance,  the  essay  on  the  Underworld 
attempts  to  quote  and  discuss  every  impor- 
tant Homeric  passage  alluding  to  the  con- 
dition of  the  dead.  The  young  student  is 
earnestly  advised  to  read  the  great  poems 
for  himself  with  notebook  in  hand,  seeking 
every  allusion  to  one  or  more  important  and 
oft-recurring  subjects,  such  as  architecture 
and  the  other  arts,  use  of  metals,  condition 
of  slaves,  etc.  The  gathering  of  such 
statistics  may  add  to  a  careful  reading  of 
Homer  as  many-sided  stimulus  and  instruc- 
tion as  would  the  quest  for  peculiar  con- 
structions or  dialectic  forms. 

The  writer  firmly  believes,  too,  that  the 
Homeric  poems  (and  many  other  master- 
pieces of  foreign  literature)  should  be  read 
through,  and  read  repeatedly,  even  by  com- 
petent linguistic  students,  in  English  trans- 
lations. Sustained  courses  of  instruction 
in  ancient  literature,  archaeology,  and  art, 
conducted  wholly  in  English,  should  be 
prepared  for  all  students  whose  chief  work 
is  in  other  fields.  The  realization  of  a  his- 
toric continuity  in  man's  intellectual  life  is 
as  indispensable  to  all  educated  people  as 


PREFACE  IX 

is  the  adequate  mastery  of  their  mother 
speech  or  of  arithmetical  and  algebraic 
methods  in  computation.  Toward  such 
serious  studies,  in  English,  the  author  hopes 
to  have  contributed  something,  if  only  in 
his  appendix. 

The  present  volume  appeals,  however, 
especially,  to  the  general  public  ;  or,  rather, 
to  those  earnest  men  and  women  who  wish 
a  perfectly  simple  and  readable  introduction 
to  the  chief  masterpieces  of  ancient  litera- 
ture. Perhaps  it  should  contain  more  fre- 
quent references  to  works  of  archaic  art. 
These  are,  however,  rarely  direct  illustra- 
tions to  Homer.  Archseology,  too,  is  so 
popular  just  now  that  one  small  volume  of 
mere  literary  and  aesthetic  criticism  may 
perhaps  claim  toleration.  Moreover,  the 
closing  essay  of  the  present  series  is,  in 
tone  at  least,  if  not  in  substance,  a  palinode 
to  Archaiologia  !  This  paper,  as  is  elsewhere 
explained,  has  detached  itself  from  the  open- 
ing essay.  Most  of  the  papers  appeared  in 
an  earlier  form  as  magazine  articles  in  the 
Atlantic  3Ionthly. 

A  second  volume  is  now  nearly  completed, 


X  PREFACE 

upon  the  lost  Cyclic  Epics,  the  Hesiodic 
poems, the  "Homeric  Hymns,"  and  in  gen- 
eral that  persistent  survival  of  epic  dialect 
and  metre  whose  manifold  forms  may  he 
best  grouped  as  "The  School  of  Homer." 
In  such  a  field,  where  no  great  English 
versions  in  accessible  form  exist,  the  trans- 
lator's functions  —  as  distinguished  from 
exposition  and  criticism  —  will  become  rel- 
atively more  imperative  and  constant. 

One  somewhat  technical  question  may 
perhaps  best  be  raised  here.  AVith  one  ex- 
ception these  studies  are  also  experiments 
in  English  hexameters.  Possibly  the  vol- 
ume would  never  have  appeared  but  for  its 
author's  interest  in  the  old  and  unsolved 
problem  of  the  ideal  form  for  a  translation 
of  Homer. 

Neither  the  arguments  nor  the  masterly 
English  translations  of  the  two  older  friends 
to  whom  he  is  most  indebted  for  encour- 
agement and  sympathy,  Mr.  Charles  Eliot 
Norton  and  Mr.  George  Herbert  Palmer, 
have  convinced  him  that  prose  is  the  proper 
form  into  which  to  translate  a  poem,  par- 
ticularly  a  sustained  effort  like  an   epic. 


PREFACE  XI 

One  point  seems  not  sufficiently  emphasized 
in  any  discussion  ;  namely,  the  importance 
of  the  line  as  a  natural  unit  of  measure  for 
the  thought.  Any  verse  becomes  unbear- 
ably artificial  and  wearisome,  to  poet  and 
hearer,  which  is  not  of  an  approximately 
fit  length  for  the  ordinary,  the  average 
sentence  or  clause  of  the  language  in  ques- 
tion. 

Aristotle  remarks  that  the  iambic  trimeter, 
the  twelve-syllable  verse  of  Greek  tragedy, 
is  the  metrical  form  nearest  to  the  language 
of  prose,  and  intimates  that  this  is  the  cause 
of  its  great  success  and  vogue  in  Greek 
drama.  The  English  speech,  having  lost 
its  inflectional  endings,  usually  needs  only 
ten  syllables,  at  most.  Hence  the  persistent 
life  of  our  "blank  verse,"  and  of  rhymed 
combinations  of  the  same  unit. 

The  "heroic  couplet,"  however,  passed 
out  of  use  to  a  great  extent  in  England  with 
the  coming  of  a  less  artificial  poetic  school, 
because  its  instantly  recurring  rhyme  com- 
pels the  expenditure  of  twenty  syllables 
upon  the  expression  of  a  single  thought. 
This  requires  either  padding  of  a  feeble 


Xll  PREFACE 

kind, — chiefly  adjectives, — or  else  the  com- 
position of  a  second  line  carrying  an  idea 
purely  tributary  to  that  uttered  in  the  pre- 
ceding '^erse. 

Dante's  Commedia  is  composed  in  lines 
of  about  eleven  syllables.  The  loss  of  music 
and  grace  in  a  transfer  to  English  is  a  most 
discouraging  one.  We  never  yet  knew  any 
one  who  learned  to  love  or  admire  the  poem 
first  through  Longfellow's  version.  But 
the  ideas  —  Mr.  Xorton  says  we  can  bring 
over  little  more  in  any  case  —  are  there  in- 
tact. More  than  this,  Longfellow  offers  us 
the  poet's  thoughts  in  orderly  succession. 
We  confess  that  with  all  the  superior  faith- 
fulness and  taste  of  Mr,  Norton's  own 
version,  despite  his  Dantesque  accuracy  in 
choosing  the  one  fit  word,  we  are  often 
bewildered,  often  wearied,  by  the  weighty 
thoughts  falling  thick  and  fast  without  the 
recurrent  pause  between.  We  miss  the 
division  into  lines,  because  it  was  a  fit  and 
natural  division.  If  any  lover  of  Dante  will 
undertake  to  recall  his  favourite  passages,  he 
will  almost  invariably  find  himself  quoting 
entire  lines :  — 


PREFACE 


Quegli  b  Omero,  poeta  sovrano, 
Lasciate  ogni  speranza,  voi  ch'  entrate, 
Quel  giorno  piii  non  vi  leggemmo  avante, 

and  endeavouriDg  to  render  them  in  Englisli 
iambic  verse. 

And  now,  to  apply  all  this  to  the  case  in 
hand.  It  has  been  already  conceded  that 
the  Homeric  hexameter  is  too  long  for  an 
ordinary  English  sentence.  That  is  alone 
enough  to  condemn  it  for  use  in  a  sustained 
original  poem.  Its  accentuation  is  also  very 
remote  from  the  natural  cadence  of  tlie 
average  English  sentence.  Evangeline  is 
perhaps  not  loved  chiefly  for  its  metre. 
Clough's  Bothie  is  rugged  reading.  Kings- 
ley's  Andromeda  is  better  metrically,  but  is 
a  mere  classical  experiment  in  artificial 
form.  These  are  not  inspiring  examples, 
and  will  hardly  be  largely  followed. 

In  the  problem  of  translating  Homer, 
however,  the  question  is  both  simpler  and 
more  difficult.  The  thoughts  are  furnished 
us,  the  amount  a  line  shall  express  is  fixed. 
The  fatal  defect  of  all  versions  in  blank  verse 
is  that  this  unit  of  measure,  the  line,  cannot 


XIV  PREFACE 

be  retained,  and  so  the  articulation  of  the 
thoughts  is  broken  up.  Ten  English  syl- 
lables cannot  be  made  to  hold  the  thought 
of  the  average  Homeric  verse.  All  trans- 
lators make  from  a  fifth  to  a  half  more  lines. 
(The  writer  tried  at  first  laboriously  to  make 
such  line-for-line  versions  for  the  essay  on 
the  Closing  Scenes  of  the  Iliad,  and  held 
out  for  just  twenty-one  successive  verses. 
In  many  passages  it  would  be  absurd  to 
attempt  it.  With  some  hesitation  the  trans- 
lator decided  to  leave  this  earlier  attempt 
for  the  express  purpose  of  comparison  with 
the  other  rhythms  essayed  elsewhere.) 

Now,  granting  all  the  metrical  and  musi- 
cal diversity  between  the  two  languages,  it 
will  doubtless  still  be  conceded,  that  an 
English  dactylic  line,  when  successful,  is,  at 
least,  a  closer  echo  of  the  Homeric  verse  than 
anything  else  in  our  rhythmical  armoury. 
It  was  indeed  a  somewhat  long  line  even 
for  early  Greek  needs.  Hence  the  frequent 
repetitions,  the  fixed  epithets,  etc.,  which 
are  saved  from  the  stigma  of  "padding" 
only  by  their  unfailing  grace  and  fitness. 
But  here  — if  anywhere  —  the  final  solution 


PREFACE  XV 

of  the  translator's  Homeric  question  is  to  be 
found.  The  resonant  Latin  element  of  our 
vocabulary  must  be  largely  drawn  upon. 
The  earlier  freedom  in  forming  fresh  com- 
pounds might  be  cautiously  revived.  The 
naive  repetitions  and  epithets  of  Homer 
should  be  fearlessly  retained.  Perhaps  suc- 
cessive generations  of  humanistic  scholars 
will  have  to  use  and  improve  upon  the 
results  of  their  predecessors,  as  Mr.  Palmer 
both  practises  and  advises.  Perchance  a 
great  master  of  poetic  forms  will  suddenly 
arise  to  show  us  how  simple  a  thing  it  is  to 
translate  Homer,  by  simply  doing  it.  The 
writer  has  little  question  that  a  translation 
in  hexameters,  at  least  equal  to  the  German 
work  of  Voss,  is  attainable  in  English. 
Perhaps,  indeed,  the  spirited  versions  of 
Mr.  Way  have  already  demonstrated  this. 

"William  Cranston  Lawton. 

Adelphi  Academy,  Brooklyn, 
February  1,  1896. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 
PREFACE Vii 


I.  THE    ILIAD   AS    A    WORK    OF    ART        .  1 

II.  WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD     ...  31 

III.  CLOSING   SCENES  OF   THE    ILIAD   .       .  92 

IV.  THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY  .       .       .  134 
V.  THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD.       .       .  171 

VI.  ODYSSEUS    AND   NAUSICAA  ....  193 

VII.  POST-HOMERIC   ACCRETIONS    TO   THE 

TROJAN    MYTH 243 


APPENDIX  —  SYLLABUS 263 


AKT    AND    HUMANITY    IN 
HOMER 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A    AVORK    OF    ART 

TTTE  must  still  regard  the  Greeks  as  our 
'  '  teachers  and  unrivalled  masters.  Not, 
however,  upon  the  whole,  in  the  domain  of 
spiritual  or  moral  truth.  Here  modern  men 
grasp  firmly  essential  verities  toward  which 
even  Plato  only  darkly  groped.  Whatever 
the  destiny  which  may  await  the  miraculous 
side  of  Christian  belief,  yet  the  conscious- 
ness of  brotherhood  among  all  mankind, 
based  on  a  steadfast  trust  in  one  allwise 
and  beneficent  Higher  Power,  is  the  price- 
less and  inalienable  gift  of  that  faith  to 
humanity. 
Nor  shall  we  ever  turn  to   the   ancient 

B  I 


2         ART   AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

world  for  our  models  in  social  and  political 
organization.  The  Athenian  republic  of 
Pericles,  with  its  few  thousand  leisure- 
loving  citizens,  standing  upon  the  necks  of 
slaves  tenfold  their  own  number,  and  exact- 
ing reluctant  tribute  from  a  confederacy  of 
nominally  independent  cities  and  islands, 
can  throw  little  direct  light  upon  the  infi- 
nitely larger  problems  which  we  and  our 
children  must  face.  The  most  interesting 
development  of  the  present  decade  is  the 
vigorous  assault  by  the  educated  and  benevo- 
lent upon  the  centres  of  poverty  and  crime 
in  our  great  cities.  But  in  Plato's  ideal 
republic,  as  in  the  actual  states  he  had 
known, to  "elevate  the  masses  "  would  have 
been  to  upheave  all  the  foundations  of 
society  :  it  would  have  meant  preaching  dis- 
content and  sedition  to  the  indispensable 
slaves  who  supported  the  "  leisure  class." 

The  mastery  of  the  Greeks  lay  especially 
in  those  creative  arts  which  ennoble  and 
adorn  the  life  of  man,  and  in  the  harmoni- 
ous development  of  all  the  physical  and 
mental  faculties.  We  may  hardly  venture 
to  set  definitely  before  ourselves  a  loftier 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A    WORK    OF    ART  3 

goal  of  progress,  than  the  future  attainment, 
by  the  citizens  of  the  American  republic,  by 
its  teeming  millions  of  men  and  women,  to 
the  same  capacity  for  refined  and  enlightened 
enjoyment  of  all  their  mental  and  physical 
powers  that  was  reached  in  ancient  Attica  : 
reached,  to  be  sure,  by  a  mere  handful,  con- 
sisting of  men  only,  and  in  a  privileged 
social  station. 

For  such  reasons,  as  well  as  for  many 
others,  a  poem  —  though  it  be  of  unknown 
age  and  authorship,  though  it  have  ever 
so  little  historical  background  —  which  was 
for  many  centuries  the  Bible  of  the  Hellenic 
race,  which  nearly  all  Greeks  gladly  accepted 
as  containing  the  truth  in  regard  to  their 
own  ancestors,  which  furnished  their  loftiest 
ideals  of  heroic  character  and  of  literary 
art,  must  be  eminently  worthy  of  our 
attention  and  thoughtful  study. 

But  the  Homeric  poems  cannot  be  safely 
used  as  a  handbook  of  early  Greek  history, 
nor  even  as  a  picture  of  actual  Hellenic 
manners  and  customs  in  the  age  before  the 
Olympiads.  The  element  in  these  creations 
concerning  which  we  can  speak  most  defi- 


4         ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

nitely  and  positively  is  the  Incredible.  For 
instance,  there  never  existed  a  race  of 
heroes  living  on  terms  of  familiar  inter- 
course with  the  Olympian  gods,  exchanging 
wayside  greetings  in  enchanted  islands  with 
Hermes  (Odyssey,  X.  277-307),  or  buffets 
with  Ares  on  the  battle-field  (Iliad,  V. 
846-864).  The  hundred  clans  of  early  Hel- 
las never  set  forth,  willingly  and  harmoni- 
ously, upon  a  fleet  as  large  as  Xerxes',  and 
beleaguered  a  foreign  city  for  ten  years, 
merely  to  restore  one  unfaithful  woman  to 
her  rightful  lord.  There  was  no  prehistoric 
town  in  the  little  Trojan  plain  so  garrisoned 
and  provisioned  as  to  withstand  such  a 
siege,  nor  could  a  host  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand men  have  been  supported  in  that  open 
plain  for  even  a  single  year. 

Or,  to  descend  to  lesser  details,  who 
believes  that  the  early  Hellenes  went  forth 
to  war  beyond  the  seas  provided  with  chari- 
ots and  horses  like  Assyrian  kings  ?  Who 
supposes  a  pair  of  youths  ever  rode  in  such 
a  chariot  across  the  Peloponnese  from 
Sphacteria  to  Sparta  (Odyssey,  III.  481; 
IV.  1),  without  even  perceiving  the  inac- 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A   WORK   OF    ART  5 

cessible  ridges  of  Taygetos  that  lie  be- 
tween ? 

In  one  of  the  earlier  battles  of  the  Iliad, 
two  princes,  diverse  in  race  and,  presum- 
ably, in  speech,  meet  for  the  first  time  in 
the  pitched  battle  under  the  walls  of  Troy. 
Within  reach  of  each  other's  spears  they 
chat  in  garrulous  fashion,  until  they  acci- 
dentally discover  that  their  grandsires  had 
once  known  each  other  as  host  and  guest. 
They  then  strip  off  their  armour  and  ex- 
change it, — the  Greek  securing  "gold  for 
bronze,  the  value  of  a  hundred  oxen  for  the 
worth  of  nine,"  — swear  lifelong  friendship, 
and  agree  to  shun  each  other's  spears  in 
the  fray  (Iliad,  VI.  119-236).  Unless  it 
be  in  the  proportionate  value  of  the  metals 
in  the  Homeric  age,  or  in  the  early  tra- 
dition of  Hellenic  craft  in  barter,  —  still 
proverbial  in  the  Levant,  —  what  connec- 
tion can  be  traced  between  any  real  or  pos- 
sible battle  scene  and  such  a  poet's  dream? 

It  is  easy  to  continue  this  process  of 
elimination,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  arrive  at  any 
residuum  which  becomes  historically  certain, 
or  even  highly  probable.     Of  course  much 


6         ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

iu  the  Iliad  is  true  to  the  poet's  own  time  : 
but  we  can  never  sift  it  out.  If  there  be 
any  important  exceptions  to  this  statement, 
they  will  be  found  in  passages  generally  re- 
garded as  late  additions.  Some  of  the  civic 
and  social  scenes  upon  Achilles'  shield 
(XVIII.  478-608)  are  realistic,  whether  the 
shield  itself  is  a  possible  creation  or  not. 
Though  the  "Catalogue  of  Ships"  repre- 
sents truthfully  no  real  armament,  it  is  a 
pretty  faithful  list  of  the  Greek  cities  then 
existing.  But,  even  in  such  matters,  we  can 
usually  reach  little  more  than  surmises. 

It  cannot  even  be  shown  that  the  legend 
was  familiarly  known  and  wide-spread 
among  the  Greek  peoples,  apart  from  its 
literary  treatment  by  Homer.  It  is  quite 
true  that  the  setting  of  the  story  is  a  real 
earthly  landscape,  and  a  brief  stay  upon  the 
shores  of  the  Hellespont  sufl&ces  to  convince 
the  pilgrim  that  the  classic  bard  had  himself 
visited  the  plain,  and  made  good  use  of  an 
excellent  pair  of  eyes.  I  myself  have  beheld 
with  delight  the  outspread  panorama  from 
Zeus'  seat,  on  "the  topmost  -peak  of  many- 
fountained    Ida,"   and    enjoyed  the  book 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A    WOKK    OF    ART  7 

of  the  Iliad  read  sitting  beside  "  the  fishy 
Hellespont,"  upon  Achilles'  tomb,  —  despite 
some  misgivings  lest  we  had  selected  the 
wrong  mound.  But  so  is  the  forest  of  Ar- 
dennes real ;  not,  therefore,  Orlando  and 
Kosalind.  Though  some  of  us  have  doubt- 
less visited  Hamlet's  castle,  the  royal  ghost 
is  still  but  a  ghost.  The  site  of  Camelot 
may  be  identified  ;  it  will  never  be  Tenny- 
son's Camelot. 

That  some  tradition  of  a  real  war  formed 
the  basis  of  the  myth  has  been  made  more 
than  probable  by  the  important  discoveries 
of  Dr.  Schliemann.  Certainly  at  least  one 
prehistoric  city  rich  in  gold  existed  in  the 
Trojan  plain,  and  was  destroyed  by  fire. 
But  any  events  which  had  occurred  there 
came  to  the  poet  so  refracted  through  an 
atmosphere  of  vague  and  fabulous  tradi- 
tion, that  his  work  is  in  no  wise  hampered 
or  limited  by  historic  record  or  popular  be- 
lief. The  detailed  story  of  Achilles'  wrath 
is  as  clearly  the  conscious  creation  of  a 
poetic  mind  as  Prospero's  enchanted  island 
and  its  inhabitants. 

That  the  general  legend  had  been  freely 


8  ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

treated  by  other  poets  before  him,  — just  as 
Tristram  and  Iseult  are  sung  by  Swinburne 
and  Tennyson  and  many  another  of  earlier 
days,  —  Homer  himself  plainly  tells  us.  He 
introduces  into  the  Odyssey  minstrels  of  the 
elder  time,  whose  subjects  are  the  Fate  of 
Ilios  (Demodocos,  VHL  499  ff.)  and  the 
Return  of  the  Achaians  (Phemios,  I.  326). 

The  very  dialect  is  a  highly  artificial  and 
copious  one,  created  by  long  moulding  in  the 
trough  of  the  hexameter ;  for  it  could  never 
have  been  spoken  at  any  one  time  and 
place.  Thus  Homer  uses  freely  five  differ- 
ent forms  for  the  infinitive  verb  "6e" 
(e^i/xei',  e/J.€v,  efMfxevai,  efieuai,  eivai),  all  of  dif- 
fering metrical  value.  Xo  one  spoken  dia- 
lect carries  so  many  parallel  forms  at  one 
time.  Most  of  them,  clearly,  were  archa- 
isms even  in  the  epic  period.  This  is  but  a 
simple  typical  example.  Generations  must 
have  laboured  upon  the  heroic  verse  to  ac- 
cumulate such  wealth  of  plastic  materials. 

The  notion  that  Homer  had  anything  of 
the  naive  simplicity  usually  attributed  to 
the  popular  ballad-maker  is  long  since 
abandoned.     Not  merely  by  its  magnificent 


THE   ILIAD    AS    A   WORK   OF    ART         9 

rhythm  and  Shakespearean  wealth  of  vocab- 
ulary, but  by  its  intensely  dramatic  situa- 
tions, its  abundance  of  ingenious  and  purely 
poetical  detail,  the  Iliad  is  stamped  unmis- 
takably as  a  creation  of  consummate  and 
self-conscious  art.  It  certainly  was  the 
culmination  of  a  long  literary  development : 
but  was  so  successful  that  it  has  outlived 
the  memory  of  its  predecessors,  and  of  the 
events  which  may  have  suggested  them. 

Homer,  moreover,  is  careful  to  remind  us 
often  that  even  the  princes  and  courts  for 
whom  he  sings  are  nowise  like  the  heroes 
of  the  epic  song.  The  men  of  his  own 
degenerate  days  could  not  lift  Achilles' 
latch,  nor  Hector's  stone,  nor  even  old 
Nestor's  drinking-bowl !  One  of  the  most 
prosaic  passages  is  the  so-called  ' '  Catalogue 
of  Ships."  Yet  the  singer  here  invokes 
anew  the 

Muses  who  dwell  on  Olympos, 

and  adds  the  humble  confession  :  — 

Only  a  rumour  we  hear,  nor  do  we  know 
anything  surely. 


10      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

Of  the  man  Homer,  and  liis  life,  also,  we 
know  nothing.  All  the  discordant  stories 
told  of  him  by  later  Greeks  stamp  them- 
selves plainly  as  feeble  inventions.  That 
he  was  a  conscious  artist  was  asserted  just 
now  simply  because  his  works  so  declare 
him.  All  the  minstrels  and  bards  men- 
tioned in  the  Homeric  poems,  —  Thamyris, 
Demodocos,  Phemios,  and  the  rest, — are 
court  poets,  honoured  of  men  and  listened 
to  with  delight.  That  Homer  himself 
wished,  at  least,  to  be  heard  and  applauded 
by  nobles  and  princes,  is  clear.  His  valor- 
ous men  and  fair  women  are  all  of  lofty 
birth.  Even  the  swineherd,  who  stands 
beside  Odysseus  so'' gallantly  in  the  long 
fight  with  the  suitors,  was  the  son  of  a  king 
in  his  own  land,  and  is  a  slave  and  menial 
only  through  the  fate  of  captivity  (Od. 
XV.  403,  etc.).  One  man  of-  the  people, 
only.  Homer  deigns  to  des«ribe  in  detail, 
—  and  that  one  is  the  ridiculous  Thersites. 
All  this  shows  clearly  how  remote  both 
poet  and  poem  must  have  been  from  the 
free  mercantile  communities  which  we  find 
in  Asia  Minor  in  the  seventh  century  n.c,  at 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A   WORK    OF    ART        1 1 

the  earliest  dawn,  that  is,  of  authentic  Greek 
history. 

We  said  there  was  no  evidence  that  the 
Trojan  legend  was  a  familiar  one  among 
Greeks  generally  before  Homer  glorified  it. 
There  are  features  in  the  construction  of 
the  Iliad  indicating  that  it  was  unfamiliar 
to  the  poet's  auditors.  Opportunities  are 
skilfully  used,  very  early  in  the  poem,  to 
sketch  in  outline  the  essential  features  in 
the  general  tale  of  Troy.  The  birth  and 
destiny  of  Achilles  are  touched  upon  in  his 
appeal  to  his  divine  mother  (I.  348,  etc.). 
Helen's  sin  is  mentioned  (II.  161).  The 
omens  at  Aulis  before  the  fleet  set  sail,  the 
duration  and  course  of  the  war  hitherto,  are 
also  impressively  related  within  the  first 
thousand  lines  (II.  301-332  and  134-138). 

Moreover,  there  were  a  number  of  early 
Greek  epics,  younger,  however,  than  Iliad 
or  Odyssey,  expressly  intended  to  complete 
the  "Epic  Cycle"  by  relating  events  pre- 
ceding, intervening  between,  and  following 
the  plots  of  the  two  greater  poems.  All 
but  a  few  fragments  perished  long  ago,  but 
we  chance  to  have  a  pretty  full  summary 


12      ART   AND   HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

of  their  contents.  Their  length  is  also 
approximately  known  from  the  number  of 
books  in  each,  these  divisions  being  a  me- 
chanical convenience  for  rolling,  not  much 
older  than  the  Alexandrian  librarians. 

Now,  these  ' '  cyclic ' '  epics  were  all  com- 
paratively brief.  They  were  closely  depend- 
ent on,  in  fact  carefully  dovetailed  into,  the 
two  greater  poems.  They  were  chiefly  occu- 
pied in  elaborating  and  explaining  allusions 
in  the  elder  works.  Where  Homer  was 
silent  or  ambiguous,  e.g.  as  to  the  fate  of 
leading  characters  like  ^neas  or  Androm- 
ache, these  later  singers  disagree  hopelessly. 
They  evidently  did  not  draw  heavily  upon 
a  mass  of  old  and  tenacious  folk-lore  which 
the  Iliad  (and  Odyssey)  had  failed  to  ex- 
haust. We  think  it  is  the  prevailing  belief 
of  scholars,  at  present,  that  no  such  mass  of 
Trojan  legend  existed,  independent  of  the 
great  literary  epics. 

The  obvious  but  excellent  comparison 
with  the  Arthur-cycle  has  been  already 
suggested.  Whether  or  not  we  cling 
fondly  to  our  belief  in  a  real  Arthur,  and 
Lancelot,   and   Merlin,  we   must  see  that 


THE   ILIAD    AS    A   WORK    OF    ART        1 3 

any  such  reality  has  had  little  indeed  to 
do  with  the  evolution  of  the  Tennysonian 
Idylls.  A  later  English  poet  will  count 
upon  the  presence  of  these  Idylls,  and  very 
little  else,  in  the  memory  of  his  audience. 
The  Homeric  picture,  then,  stands  practi- 
cally isolated.  Whatever  historical  details 
are  truthfully  given,  we  can  never  hope  to 
select  and  verify  them.  Let  us  take  a  sin- 
gle important  illustration :  the  question  as 
to  the  age  of  Homer,  the  poet.  The  histor- 
ical Greeks  set  at  about  two  generations 
after  Troy's  fall  the  date  for  the  great 
southward  movement  of  the  Dorian  clans 
into  the  Peloponnese.  This  invasion  was 
believed  to  have  dethroned  and  expelled 
the  great  Achaian  families,  the  posterity 
of  Menelaos,  Agamemnon,  Nestor,  and  of 
the  other  chiefs  familiar  to  us  from  the 
Iliad.  The  exiles  of  that  age  were  sup- 
posed to  have  founded  the  Greek  cities  in 
Asia  Minor.  These  traditions  probably 
have  a  substantial  basis  of  fact,  and  this 
temporary  convulsion  and  retrogression  in 
the  Greek  civilization  may  account  in  part 
for  the  gTeat  gap  between  Homeric  life  and 


14      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

customs,  and  those  of  later  Greece.  Did 
Homer,  then,  live  before  or  after  this 
upheaval  ? 

Now,  many  of  the  ancients  thought  that 
Smyrna,  the  Greek  city  in  Asia  Minor,  was 
pointed  out  by  the  weight  of  evidence  as 
the  birthplace  of  Homer ;  the  modern 
students  have  quite  largely  agreed  with 
them  in  this  opinion.  And  yet,  the  poems 
themselves  give  no  hint  of  any  Greek  cities 
existing,  or  destined  to  exist,  in  Asia  at  all ! 
On  the  contrary,  the  poet  is  apparently 
quite  unaware  of  this  eastward  colonizing 
movement,  which  is  in  truth  the  first  great 
historical  event  in  Greece  which  we  can 
discern.  It  is  not  improbable  that  the 
siege  of  holy  Ilios  is  in  truth  a  far-off  echo, 
or  rather  a  sky-painted  mirage,  suggested 
merely  by  that  stoutly  resisted  eastward 
colonization  itself.  But  it  can  hardly  be 
disproven,  that  Homer's  life  may  actually 
have  been  spent  before  the  final  downfall  of 
that  brilliant  Achaian  civilization  which  he 
immortalizes  in  his  poems.  On  this  ques- 
tion Schuchhardt  and  Leaf  disagree  diamet- 
rically within  one  pair  of  covers. 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A    WORK    OF    ART       1 5 

It  was  the  German  scholar  Welcker  who 
first  suggested  that  the  gradual  spread  of 
interest  in  the  epic  school  of  poetry  might 
be  traced  in  the  list  of  places  claiming  to  be 
the  birthplace  of  Homer.  The  most  familiar 
form  of  this  list  is  the  one  mentioned  by- 
Cicero,  and  forming  a  hexameter  line :  — 

Smyrna,  Chios,  Colophon,  Salamis,  Rhodos, 
Argos,  Athense. 

Numerous  variations  and  substitutions 
were,  however,  current  in  antiquity.  The 
mention  of  Chios  in  the  lists  is  especially 
interesting,  for  the  cause  is  probably  to  be 
found  in  the  closing  lines  of  the  Homeric 
Hymn  to  Apollo,  where  the  author,  evi- 
dently describing  himself,  says,  — 

Blind  is  the  man,  and  in  Chios  abounding 
in  crags  is  his  dwelling. 

The  so-called  Homeric  hymns  in  honour  of 
various  divinities  were  attributed  to  Homer 
by  the  general  voice  of  antiquity,  and  this 
very  hymn  to  Apollo  is  so  mentioned  and 
quoted  by  Thucydides.  As  to  the  birth- 
place of  the  singer  of  the  Iliad  it  is  safer 


1 6      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

to  be  doubtful,  but  at  least  we  may  assert 
unhesitatingly  that  he  was  not  hlind.,  and 
not  identical  with  the  rather  too  self-con- 
scious composer  of  this  hymn  to  the  Delian 
god. 

But  the  more  completely  the  tale  of  Troy, 
with  its  author,  eludes  the  analysis  of  his- 
torian and  archsBologist,  so  much  loftier  is 
the  position  it  assumes  in  its  true  character, 
as  a  masterpiece  of  imaginative  poetry.  The 
Iliad  satisfies  in  large  measure  the  three  de- 
mands we  may  make  upon  any  artistic  crea- 
tion :  simplicity,  truth,  beauty.  First,  the 
plot  is  simple,  its  evolution  complete,  and 
its  result  inevitable.  The  subject  announced 
in  the  opening  line. 

Sing,  0  goddess,  the  "vvTath  of  Achilles  the 
offspring  of  Peleus, 

is  worked  out  —  despite  the  somewhat  pro- 
tracted retardations  and  eddies  in  the  story 
as  we  now  have  it  —  to  its  final  results. 
Even  the  death  of  Achilles  (XIX.  416-417  ; 
XXII.  359-360),  and  the  fall  of  the  guilty 
city  (VI.  448-449  ;   II.  329),  are  foreshad- 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A   WORK   OF    ART       1 7 

owed  in  so  impressive  a  manner  that  all  our 
reasonable  curiosity  is  satisfied.  Aristotle 
in  his  Poetics  (§  23)  illustrates  the  unity 
of  plot  in  the  Iliad  thus:  "Only  a  single 
tragedy  (or  at  most  two)  has  been  made 
out  of  either  Iliad  or  Odyssey  ;  but  from 
the  'Little  Iliad,'  "  (one  of  the  brief  con- 
tinuations mentioned  before)  "more  than 
eight,"  and  ten  are  presently  enumerated, 
if  the  text  is  sound.  First,  then,  the  story 
is  a  simple  one. 

Secondly,  the  warriors  and  matrons  whom 
we  see  acting  and  suffering,  whether  real 
Greek  men  and  women  or  not,  are  at  any 
rate  fully  human.  We  do  not  demand  that 
the  conditions  of  their  life  shall  be  such  as 
ever  existed,  or  could  have  existed,  on  our 
earth.  Nay,  we  escape  gladly  for  the  time 
being  into  the  romantic  and  imaginative 
environment  of  the  poet's  scenes.  But 
after  all,  it  is  not  for  angels  nor  for  brutes, 
but  only  for  men  and  women,  that  our 
warmest  human  interest  can  be  aroused. 
And  so  we  do  demand,  that  within  that 
environment  Homer's  people  shall  act  as 
rational  men  and  women  would  behave 
c 


15      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

under  similar  conditions  ;  or,  at  least,  their 
actions  must  spring  naturally  from  motives 
and  impulses  intelligible  to  us  and  adequate 
to  arouse  them.  The  tale  then  is  not  only 
simple,  but  truthful :  realistic,  if  you  like  ! 
But  thirdly,  and  chiefly,  Homer's  charac- 
ters are  heroic.  They  tower  high  above  the 
commonplace  levels  of  humanity.  They 
are  not  so  much  like  ourselves  as  what 
we  would  wish  to  become.  Frankly,  this 
seems  to  me  the  sole  final  test  of  the  artist's 
right  to  be.  We  know  the  pettiness,  the 
limitations,  the  disenchantments  of  life  only 
too  well.  The  artist  is  the  creator  of  the 
beautiful.  He  must  inspire  and  uplift  us 
by  setting  before  us  something  nobly  simple 
and  intelligible,  wrought  in  our  own  divine 
likeness,  but  lovelier  and  loftier  than  our 
everj' day  selves. 

It  has  been  remarked  already,  that,  while 
nominally  dealing  with  a  single  episode  in 
the  last  year  of  the  long  struggle,  the  Iliad 
allades,  in  numerous  passages,  to  events  pre- 
ceding and  following.  Still,  many  details 
of  the  larger  myth,   among  them  several 


THE   ILIAD    AS    A   WORK   OF    ART       1 9 

which  are  now  especially  prominent  and 
familiar,  —  Hecab6's  dream,  Paris'  choice, 
Achilles'  education  as  a  girl,  etc.  —  are  to  all 
appearances  unknown  to  Homer,  and  due 
to  the  independent  inventions  of  later  poets 
and  chroniclers.  That  almost  any  Greek 
mind  would  so  assert  its  independence,  is  to 
be  seen  with  singular  clearness  in  the  thou- 
sands of  painted  vases  upon  which  familiar 
scenes  from  mythology  and  literature  reap- 
pear. With  few  exceptions,  even  the  mere 
artisans  who  devised  these  humble  works 
of  art  introduced  in  each  case  more  or  less 
modifications,  suited  to  their  material  and 
to  the  space  at  their  command.  Evidently 
the  whole  mass  of  myth  long  remained  in  a 
very  plastic  condition.  This  subject,  how- 
ever, has  grown  under  the  essayist's  hand 
to  a  separate  study,  on  the  post-Homeric 
accretions  to  the  myth  (Ch.  VII.). 

The  earliest  link  in  the  chain  of  woes  dis- 
tinctly mentioned  by  Homer  is  the  elope- 
ment of  Helen,  Menelaos'  wife  and  queen 
of  Sparta,  with  the  Trojan  prince  Paris  or 
Alexandres.  Though  Achilles  claims  to 
have  joined  of  his  own  free  will,  for  justice's 


20   ART  AND  HUMANITY  IN  HOMER 

sake  and  glory's  cause,  in  the  expedition 
that  avenged  this  crime,  the  other  Greek 
chieftains  may  have  been  imagined  as  vas- 
sals, subject  in  some  fashion  to  Menelaos 
and  to  his  brother  Agamemnon,  lord  of 
Mykenae.  Ten  years  have  passed  with 
little  to  mark  their  flight.  The  Greeks 
still  lie  encamped  by  the  Hellespont,  their 
vessels  rotting  on  the  shore. 

The  poem  opens  just  after  Achilles'  sack 
of  Theb6,  identified  by  ancient  geographers 
with  a  site  on  the  southern  foot-hills  of 
Ida,  in  the  fertile  Adramyttian  plain.  A 
lovely  captive  maiden,  Chryseis,  is  assigned 
to  Agamemnon.  But  she  is  the  daughter 
of  the  priest  of  Apollo  in  his  neighbouring 
shrine  of  Chrys6,  and  the  god,  hearkening 
to  the  father's  prayers,  sends  upon  the 
Greeks  a  deadly  pestilence,  which  can  be 
stayed  only  by  the  girl's  release.  Agamem- 
non reluctantly  submits ;  but,  stung  by 
Achilles'  taunts  upon  his  greed  and  op- 
pression, takes  away  instead,  by  force, 
Achilles'  own  beloved  captive,  Briseis,  who 
would  perhaps  have  been  made  the  young 
hero's  wife    (Iliad,  XIX.  295-299).     Aga- 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A   WORK   OF    ART      21 

memnon  thus  commits,  not  even  for  love 
or  passion's  sake,  but  in  mere  tyrannous 
caprice,  almost  the  very  crime  by  which 
Paris  has  brought  destruction  on  himself 
and  all  his  folk.  (Achilles  remarks  very 
effectively  upon  this  when  a  reconciliation 
is  first  attempted.    Iliad,  IX.  335-343. ) 

Achilles  now  renounces  the  cause  of  the 
Atridse,  and  retires  to  his  cabin.  Zeus 
promises  Thetis  signal  vengeance  on  Aga- 
memnon. Hector  now  ventures  to  sally 
forth  into  the  plain  with  his  garrison,  and 
this  entails  many  disasters  for  the  Greeks. 

This  is  of  course  the  point  in  the  legend 
which  permitted  large  interpolation.  The 
greater  the  efforts  put  forth  to  stay  Hector, 
the  more  does  their  final  failure  glorify  the 
Trojan  hero,  and  possibly,  through  him,  his 
conqueror,  Achilles.  But  the  exploits  of 
other  Greeks  appealed,  besides,  to  national, 
in  some  cases  also  to  local,  pride  and  pat- 
riotism. Diomedes,  especially,  in  Book  V., 
fairly  outdoes  Achilles,  putting  not  only 
men  to  flight,  but  wounding  both  Aphro- 
dite and  Ares,  the  war-god  himself.  Most 
readers  feel  that  the  great  protraction  of 


22      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

these  scenes  mars  the  artistic  form  of  the 
epic.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days'  fighting 
most  of  the  Greek  leaders  are  either  slain 
or  disabled.  The  chief  pause  in  the  midst 
of  these  tales  of  bloodshed  is  the  ninth 
book,  in  which  ambassadors  from  Agamem- 
non visit  Achilles  by  night,  and  vainly 
implore  him  to  relax  his  wrath.  This  scene 
is  by  many  regarded  also  as  the  dividing 
line  between  the  two  great  interpolations. 

But  finally  Hector  gains  ground,  until  he 
actually  sets  fire  to  the  Greek  fleet.  Achilles 
now  reluctantly  permits  his  beloved  com- 
panion, the  gentle  Patroclos,  to  sally  forth 
to  aid  his  hard-pressed  comrades-in-arms. 
Appearing  in  Achilles'  armour,  he  is  at  first 
mistaken  for  the  fleet-footed  hero  himself, 
and  drives  the  panic-stricken  Trojans  before 
him.  He  is,  however,  himself  finally  over- 
come and  slain  by  Hector.  This  is  clearly 
an  essential  feature  of  the  tale :  and  in- 
deed, from  this  point  events  follow  each 
other  in  rapid  and  inevitable  succession. 

The  feud  between  Achilles  and  Agamem- 
non is  now  quickly  stanched.  Maddened 
by  his  friend's  death,  Pelides  again  takes 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A   WORK   OF    ART      23 

the  field.  Clad  in  armour  wrought  for  him, 
at  Thetis'  tearful  request,  by  Hephaistos 
himself,  the  divine  artificer,  Achilles  drives 
the  men  of  Troy  like  sheep  homeward. 
Last  of  all,  though  not  without  the  aid  of 
Pallas  Athene  in  person,  he  slays  in  single 
combat  the  gallant  Hector  himself,  who 
had  ventured  to  tarry  alone  outside  the 
walls  and  meet  the  onset  of  the  resistless 
foeman.  The  action  of  Athene,  however, 
in  deceiving  and  disarming  Hector,  offends 
every  Anglo-Saxon  instinct  for  "fair  play." 
It  almost  seems  as  if  the  poet  himself 
(though  he  has  just  made  Hector  flee  thrice 
in  ignominious  terror  about  the  city  wall) 
feels  the  same  sympathy  for  the  husband 
of  Andromache  that  illumines  the  great 
family  scene  of  parting  in  Book  VI. 

But  we  are  many  centuries  yet  before  the 
age  of  chivalry.  The  Greek  instinct  pre- 
ferred craft  to  force  as  frankly  as  does  an 
American  Indian.  And,  after  all,  the  gods 
weight  the  scales  for  Hector's  destruction 
because  he  is  the  bulwark  of  a  lost,  of  an 
unrighteous  cause.  Achilles  is  to  fare  yet 
worse  in  death,  falling  without  warning  by 


24       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

the  hand  of  the  cowardly  and  treacherous 
Paris :  —  perhaps  a  just  penalty  for  his 
arrogance  and  cruelty. 

For  Troy  is  not  to  be  taken  by  Achilles' 
spear.  His  death,  though  it  lies  beyond 
the  frame  of  the  Iliad  itself,  is  clearly  fore- 
shadowed, being  prophesied  by  his  mother, 
the  lovely  Nereid,  who  tells  him  :  — 

"  Quickly  for  thee  after  Hector  by  fate  thy 
doom  is  appointed" 

(II.  XVIII.  96.) 

by  the  divine  steed  miraculously  endowed 
for  this  one  utterance  with  mortal  speech 
(XIX.  416,  417),  and  still  more  plainly  by 
the  expiring  Hector  (XXII.  359,  360),  who 
foretells  for  his  slayer  the  approaching  day, 

"...  when  Paris  and  Phoebus  Apollo, 
Valorous  though  thou  art,  at  the   Scsean 
gate  shall  destroy  thee." 

The  tale  of  Troy  has  in  truth  a  charac- 
teristically Greek  conclusion,  since  the  cun- 
ning of  Odysseus  is  to  succeed  where  the 
martial  prowess  of  all  Achaia's  chieftains 
has  failed. 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A    WORK    OF    ART       2$ 

With  the  single  combat  between  Achilles 
and  Hector,  in  the  twenty-second  book,  the 
original  Iliad  may  well  have  ended.  It  is 
precisely  the  point  at  which  Virgil  —  a 
poet  of  most  refined  literary  taste,  at  least 
—  closes  his  imitative  epic.  The  exact  mo- 
ment seems  marked  by  the  triumphant 
verses  (XXII.  391-394) :  — 

' '  Now,  let  us  sing  our  paean  of  Victory, 

sons  of  Achaia, 
While  to  the  ships  we  march,  and  with  us 

carry  the  body ; 
Great  is  the  fame  we  have  won  :  we  have 

slain  the  illustrious  Hector, 
Him,  who  like  to  a  god  was  implored  in 

the  town  by  the  Trojans." 

In  fact,  what  immediately  follows  is  not 
quite  consistent  with  these  lines,  since 
Achilles  alone  drags  Hector's  body. 

But  the  poet  himself,  or  a  disciple  worthy 
to  lift  the  enchanter's  wand,  perceived  that 
the  great  epic  should  close  amid  calmer 
scenes,  with  an  appeal  to  gentler  emotions. 
In  the  twenty-third  book  is  described  the 
mourning  for  Patroclos,  to  which  are  added 
(partly,  at  least,  by  a  late  and  feeble  hand), 


26      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

the  various  games  —  archery,  foot  race, 
chariot  contest,  etc.  —  celebrated  by  Achilles 
about  his  friend's  funeral  mound. 

The  twenty-fourth  book  tells  us  how  the 
savage  Achilles  himself  is  at  last  moved  to 
desist  from  wrath  and  insult  toward  the 
dead,  and  to  give  up  Hector's  body  for  due 
funeral  rites  within  the  doomed  city.  In 
this  culminating  scene,  the  poet  has  ven- 
tured to  bring  together  the  two  stateliest 
figures  upon  his  broad  canvas.  The  old 
King  Priam,  once  the  most  prosperous 
monarch  of  Asia,  now  heavily  burdened 
with  years  and  sorrows,  betakes  himself  to 
Achilles'  encampment,  and  begs  the  privi- 
lege of  ransoming  the  corpse  of  Hector, 
kissing  as  a  suppliant  the  terrible  hands 
which  have  bereft  him  of  so  many  valiant 
sons  ! 

Almost  all  students  acquainted  with  the 
result  of  recent  investigation,  particularly 
in  Germany,  have  abandoned,  however  re- 
luctantly, the  belief  in  one  Homer,  who 
created  the  Iliad  in  its  present  form,  as 
literally  as  Dante  composed  the   Comme- 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A    WORK    OF    ART      27 

dia.  Even  Andrew  Lang  gives  ground  a 
bit,  though  in  true  Parthian  fashion.  On 
the  other  hand,  there  is  hardly  to  be  found 
nowadays  a  scholar  who  accepts  the  ballad- 
theory  of  Lachmann,  who  argued  that  our 
Iliad  was  pieced  together  in  semi-mechani- 
cal fashion,  at  a  late  date,  from  many  short 
lays  originally  disconnected  with  each 
other. 

It  is  highly  probable  that  the  subject 
announced  in  the  first  line  was  worked  out 
in  a  comparatively  direct  manner  in  a  sus- 
tained epic  poem,  the  nucleus  of  the  present 
one,  and  perhaps  one-third  or  one-fourth 
as  long,  to  its  natural  conclusion,  namely, 
the  death  of  Hector.  Whether  so  named 
or  not,  this  was  an  Achilleid,  as  Grote  calls 
it.  But  so  many  episodes  were  subse- 
quently inserted, — some  of  them,  perhaps, 
by  the  original  poet,  —  that  the  book  we 
now  read  is  not  merely  the  tale  of  Achilles' 
wrath,  but  more  nearly  suits  its  actual  title, 
the  Iliad ;  that  is,  the  story  of  Ilios,  or 
Troy.  Still,  nearly  every  one  of  these 
additions,  large  and  small,  must  have  been 
composed  expressly  for  the  place  which  it 


28   ART  AND  HUMANITY  IN  HOMER 

occupies.  Each  part  was  fitted  into  tlie 
artistic  whole,  though  they  were  not  all 
shaped  by  the  same  artist's  hand.  (This 
is,  in  general  terms,  the  theory  of  Von 
Christ,  of  Leaf,  of  Jebb,  —  and  perhaps  of 
classical  students  generally.  Mathematical 
proof,  or  even  argument  in  details,  is  im- 
possible, from  the  nature  of  the  case.  The 
attempt  of  Professor  Jebb,  in  the  fourth 
chapter  of  his  indispensable  Introduction 
to  Homer,  to  distinguish  the  successive 
strata  almost  line  by  line,  is  as  temperate 
and  scholarly  as  any  such  undertaking  can 
be.  If  he  were  to  re-edit  it  once  a  year, 
however,  he  would  inevitably  disagree  with 
himself  in  every  fresh  edition.) 

The  noble  twenty-fourth  book,  indeed,  is 
not  even  an  insertion,  but  a  continuation  of 
the  story  beyond  the  limit  announced  at  the 
beginning.  It  is  probably  not  from  the 
original  composer's  hand  ;  but  we  need  not 
hesitate  to  declare  that  it  lifts  the  whole 
tale  to  a  nobler  and  gentler  plane  of  feel- 
ing, —  and  for  that  very  reason  is  perhaps 
more  likely  to  be  the  expression  of  the 
ideals  of  a  later  and  more  refined  genera- 


THE    ILIAD    AS    A    WORK    OF    ART       29 

tion.  In  ethical  tone  it  resembles  the  Odys- 
sey rather  than  the  older  portions  of  the 
Iliad. 

There  may  seem  at  first  to  be  au  incon- 
sistency in  the  views  here  set  forth  ;  but,  in 
fact,  unity  of  design  in  a  great  work  of  art 
does  not  necessarily  indicate  unity  of  author- 
ship. There  is  one  analogy,  at  least,  so  ob- 
vious that  the  thought  which  rises  in  the 
writer's  mind  is,  doubtless,  a  mere  reminis- 
cence of  others'  words.  A  stranger  wander- 
ing through  a  great  mediaeval  cathedral,  or, 
let  us  say,  Westminster  Abbey,  might  well 
be  struck  by  the  harmonious  design  which 
dominates  all  the  variations  in  detail.  On 
reaching  the  chapel  of  Henry  the  Seventh, 
he  might  very  naturally  exclaim  :  "This  is 
in  truth  the  soul  and  key  to  the  whole 
structure !  This  portion,  surely,  is  from 
the  very  hand  of  the  original  artist  who 
planned  the  noble  building."  A  similar 
expression  might  rise  to  the  lips  of  a  lover 
of  literature,  as  he  arrives  at  this  culminat- 
ing scene  of  the  Iliad.  The  artistic  instincts 
of  both  are  right.  The  conclusions  may  be 
equally  wrong. 


30       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    llOMEK 

But  the  question  ' '  Who  constructed  it  ?  " 
is,  after  all,  a  secondary  problem,  and, 
perhaps,  an  insoluble  one,  in  both  cases. 
Even  in  Seneca's  day,  those  who  hoped  to 
solve  the  Homeric  question  were  recognized 
as  a  special  class  of  harmless  madmen  ! 
Let  us,  at  least,  learn  to  say,  with  Emer- 
son :  — 

Beauty  into  my  senses  stole. 

I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole. 

Even  Wolf,  the  first  great  assailant  of  the 
single  authorship  of  the  Iliad,  relates  how 
he  became  indignant  at  his  own  doubts,  as 
often  as  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  golden 
spell  of  the  epic  story,  that  sweeps  on  like 
a  majestic  river  moving  resistless  to  the  sea. 
(Cf.  Jebb,  Introduction  to  Homer,  p.  110.) 


II 


WOMANHOOD    IN   THE    ILIAD 

T^HE  Iliad  offers  us  the  oldest  picture 
-*-  which  we  have  of  the  life  of  man  on  the 
continent  of  Europe.  This  picture  is  also 
a  most  vivid  and  beautiful  one.  There  is 
a  constant  temptation,  therefore,  to  treat 
the  poem  as  a  starting-point  and  substan- 
tial basis  for  the  history  of  our  civilization. 
Any  attempt  of  this  kind,  however,  seems, 
as  has  been  indicated,  almost  utterly  vain 
and  elusive.  Before  we  undertake  to  re- 
cover, by  sifting  the  materials  at  our  com- 
mand, the  true  picture  of  Homeric  manners, 
customs,  and  beliefs,  let  us  seriously  im- 
agine Macaulay's  New  Zealander,  three 
thousand  years  hence,  employed  in  recon- 
structing England  as  it  was  under  the 
Tudors,  with  no  materials  save  the  Faery 
Queen  and  Chaucer's  Knight's  Tale.     Or, 


32       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

to  match  the  Theogony  and  Works  and 
Days  of  Hesiod,  let  him  be  furnished  with 
Pilgrim's  Progress  and  Snowbound.  Instead 
of  the  fragments  of  the  Greek  lyric  poets, 
we  may  generously  permit  Andrew  Lang's 
Blue  Book  of  Poetry  to  drift  down  intact. 
We  should  still  fail  to  recognize  our  kins- 
folk in  the  picture  he  would  draw. 

Perhaps,  however,  our  feeling  can  be 
better  illustrated  by  a  figure.  A  trav- 
eller, crossing  the  Alps  by  rail  at  night, 
may  be  awakened  by  a  peal  of  thunder, 
and,  pushing  aside  his  curtains,  sees,  per- 
chance, across  a  wide  intervale,  a  panorama 
of  stately  mountains,  their  outlines  half 
shrouded  in  storm-clouds.  The  scene  is 
illuminated  for  a  single  instant  by  the  un- 
earthly glare  of  the  lightning.  The  next 
second  he  falls  back  into  dreamless  slum- 
ber. In  the  morning,  indeed  for  life,  that 
picture  abides  with  him  :  whether  in  mem- 
ory or  in  imagination  he  hardly  knows,  but 
certainly  little  associated,  if  at  all,  with 
the  scenes,  whatever  they  may  be,  that 
greet  him  in  the  familiar  light  of  the  sun. 

The  pilgrim  is  the  Western  Aryan.    The 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  33 

vision  of  tlie  night  is  the  Homeric  age. 
The  real  dawn  of  our  historical  knowledge, 
the  awakening  of  the  race,  as  it  were,  to 
its  own  continuous  life,  lies  not  far  be- 
hind the  first  historian,  Herodotus,  who 
lived  in  the  fifth  century  before  our  era. 
Even  to  him,  the  men  his  grandsires  knew 
—  gentle  Croesus  and  ruthless  Cyrus,  Solon 
the  wise  and  Polycrates  the  fortunate  — 
stand  with  blurred  outlines  against  a  back- 
ground of  fable :  dim  gigantic  shapes  in  the 
mists  of  morning. 

How  long  before  himself  the  poet  Homer 
had  lived  Herodotus  can  only  conjecture, 
and  his  conjecture  is,  four  centuries,  —  just 
the  gap  that  yawns  to-day  between  us  and 
Columbus.  And  think  what  impenetrable 
mystery  would  now  enshroud  the  figure  of 
the  Genoese  adventurer,  had  his  age  trans- 
mitted to  us,  through  generations  utterly 
destitute  of  historical  records,  nothing  save 
a  metrical  romance  ! 

But  even  Homer,  or,  let  us  say,  the 
Homeric  poets,  avowedly  described,  not 
their  own  ignobler  days,  but  a  more  heroic, 
far-distant  foretime  whereof  they 


34      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

Hear    but    the    rumour  alone,   and  know 
nothing  as  certain. 


Brilliant  as  is  the  fabric  of  this  vision,  it 
is  inextricably  interwoven  with  the  super- 
human and  the  marvellous.  If  we  attempt 
to  strip  Achilles  of  his  divine  armour,  bid 
his  immortal  steed  be  mute,  deny  him  the 
sea-nymph  for  a  mother,  —  hero  and  lay 
alike  will  soon  crumble  away  under  our 
impious  hands !  Over  all  parts  of  the  pict- 
ure alike  there  lies  the  light  that  never  was 
on  sea  or  land,  the  glow  of  poetic  imagina- 
tion. 

It  is  thus  that  we  should  receive  and  read 
the  tale.  It  remains  none  the  less  true,  — 
not  to  mere  authentic  dates  and  historical 
events,  but  in  a  higher  sense,  like  the  Dan- 
tesque  Purgatorio,  or  Prospero's  enchanted 
isle,  true  to  the  eternal  laws  of  artistic  cre- 
ation, and  to  the  cravings  of  baffled,  weary 
humanity,  reaching  forth  eagerly  after  the 
higher  truthfulness  of  perfect  beauty. 

We  do  not  present  here,  then,  the  first 
chapter  of  an  historical  essay  upon  tlie 
development  of  woman.   How  far  the  social 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  35 

conditions  of  Homeric  Troy,  and  of  the 
Iliad  generally,  represent  the  observation 
of  the  poet  at  any  particular  place  and  time 
can  never  be  known.  We  desire  merely  to 
unroll  a  few  of  the  quieter  scenes  in  the 
lurid  panorama  of  the  Iliad.  The  translator 
is,  for  his  own  part,  fully  assured  that  we 
gaze,  through  the  poet's  eyes,  upon  a  glori- 
fied vision  of  men  and  women  as  they  might 
have  been.  Even  while  our  tears  fall  with 
theirs,  we  see  in  Hector  and  Andromache 
not  the  features  of  any  one  loving  pair  that 
ever  lived  and  died,  but  rather  immortal 
types  of  an  idealized  humanity.  We  shall 
expect,  therefore,  to  find  in  the  women  of 
Homer,  as  in  his  heroes,  not  highly  indi- 
vidualized characters,  hardly  even  specif- 
ically Greek  figures,  but  rather  natures 
simply  human,  swayed  by  the  strongest  and 
most  universal  passions  and  motives.  An- 
dromache, the  Cilician  wife  of  a  Trojan 
prince,  immortalized  in  the  verses  of  a 
Greek  poet,  is  herself  neither  a  Greek,  a 
Trojan,  nor  a  Cilician.  She  stands  upon 
a  pedestal,  and  we  look  up  reverently  to 
the  inspired  creation  of  a  master  artist. 


36      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

On  the  Greek  side,  to  be  sure,  the  Iliad 
presents  for  the  most  part  only  the  lawless 
social  conditions  of  a  permanent  camp. 
Yet  even  here  we  are  not  left  without  re- 
minders that  women  are  indispensable  to 
the  happier  side  of  life.  The  very  absence 
of  the  Achaians  from  their  own  firesides, 
through  so  many  darkening  years,  is  an 
element  of  pathos,  to  which  the  poet  has 
appealed  in  memorable  passages. 

"Whoso   tarries  afar  from  his  wife,  in  a 

many-oared  vessel, 
One  month  only,  is  chafed  in  spirit,  so  long 

as  the  gusty 
Storms  of  the  winter  and  furious  water 

detain  him  from  sailing. 
But  for  ourselves  in  the  ninth  year  passing, 

as  here  we  have  lingered." 

(II.  II.  292-296.) 

Several  times  also,  amid  the  wild  turmoil 
of  war,  an  effective  simile  suddenly  trans- 
ports us  to  scenes  of  peaceful  life,  and  even 
of  humble  toil.  Thus  the  equal  poise  of  a 
well-contested  fight  is  illustrated  by  the 
figure  of  a  woman 

Holding  the  scales,  who  raises  the  wool  and 
the  weights  together, 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  37 

Balancing  them,  to  win  scant  wage  for  her- 
self and  her  children. 

(11.  XII.  434,  435.) 

Still  more  striking  by  its  unexpected  tender- 
ness is  the  picture  that  is  called  up  by- 
Achilles,  as  he  reproves  his  friend  for 
shedding  tears  over  the  disasters  of  the 
Greeks :  — 

"Why  do  you  weep,  0  Patroclos  ?     E'en 

as  a  fond  little  maiden, 
Kunning  beside  her  mother,   and  begging 

the  mother  to  take  her, 
Plucking  her  still  by  the  gown,  and  striving 

from  haste  to  detain  her. 
Tearfully  looks  in  her  face,  until  she  indeed 

is  uplifted,  — 
Like  unto  her,   O  Patroclos,  the  swelling 

tears  you  are  shedding  !  " 

(II.  XVI.  7-11.) 

There  are,  moreover,  some  women  in  the 
Greek  camp  itself.  The  pathos  of  their 
fate  is  evidently  felt  by  the  poet.  They  are 
for  the  most  part  the  sole  survivors  from 
the  lesser  towns  of  the  Troad,  which  have 
been  successively  stormed  and  sacked  by 
Achilles.    They  have  lost,  at  a  single  blow, 


38      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IX   HOMER 

kindred,  home,  freedom,  often  honour  as 
well.  Of  these  unhappy  creatures  we  have 
occasional  vivid  glimpses,  and  two  of  their 
number  stand  forth  with  distinctness,  — 
are  indeed  essential  to  the  epic  plot. 

Fair-cheeked  Chryseis,  a  less  tragic  figure 
than  the  rest,  merely  ghdes  like  a  swift 
vision  of  maidenhood  through  the  opening 
scenes  of  the  tale.  She  is  not  left  friend- 
less nor  forsaken,  for  her  kindred  were  not 
with  her  when  she  fell  into  captivity.  How 
it  chanced  that  this  girl,  who  dwelt  with 
her  father,  Apollo's  priest,  in  holy  Chrys6, 
was  taken  in  Andromache's  town,  Theb6, 
Homer  does  not  pause  to  explain.  The 
poem  opens  with  her  father's  plea  for  her 
release,  Agamemnon's  scornful  refusal,  the 
prayer  of  Chryses  to  the  god  he  served,  and 
Apollo's  response.  When  the  angiy  sun- 
god  sends  a  pestilence  upon  the  host,  Aga- 
memnon's stubborn  heart  yields,  like 
Pharaoh's.  So  Chryseis'  day  of  captivity 
is  brief,  and  seemingly  not  bitter.  Her 
release  is  the  first  and  pleasantest  result 
of  the  stormy  council  of  Greek  chieftains. 
Before  the  first  rhapsody  closes,  the  glanc- 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  39 

ing-eyed  maiden  trips  lightly  upon  Odys- 
seus' ship  for  the  homeward  voyage.  It  is 
apparently  only  a  few  hours  later,  when 
she  is  placed  in  her  father's  arms,  who 

rejoicing, 
Welcomed  his  daughter  beloved. 

(II.  I.  446,  447.) 

There  is  a  powerful  tribute  to  her  beauty, 
—  and  a  dark  hint  of  the  fate  from  which 
she  was  rescued,  the  fate  of  Cassandra  not 
long  afterward,  —  in  the  expression  which 
Agamemnon  had  made  of  his  reluctance  to 
give  her  up  :  — 

"  I  am  greatly  desirous 
In  my  household  to  keep  her ;  I  prize  her 

above  Clytemnestra, 
Who  is  my  lawful  wife  ;  nor  is  she  inferior 

to  her, 
Either  in  stature  or  beauty,  in  cunning  of 
mind  or  of  body." 

(II.  I.  112-115.) 

If  Chryseis'  youth  was  troubled  with  other 
sorrows,  they  probably  did  not  arise  from 
the  presence  of  the  Grecian  host,  who  had 
well  learned  in  her  case  the  lesson  of  ' '  wis- 
dom through  suffering." 


40      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

Briseis'  fate  is  more  closely  entangled 
with  the  darkest  threads  of  the  tragic 
drama.  At  her  first  appearance,  indeed, 
she  is  a  mere  silhouette,  as  she  passes  re- 
luctantly down  the  strand  from  Achilles' 
cabin,  led  by  the  heralds  to  the  galley  of 
Agamemnon,  who  has  ruthlessly  claimed 
her  to  make  good  his  loss.  The  leading 
away  of  Briseis  is  represented  more  than 
once  upon  Greek  vases,  and  is  also  the  sub- 
ject of  one  of  the  largest  and  finest  Pom- 
peian  wall-paintings.  The  face  of  Achilles 
is  in  itself  a  poem.    (See  Baumeister,  p.  723.) 

The  event  was  evidently  regarded  as  the 
decisive  point  in  the  quarrel  between  the 
leaders.  It  is  this  seizure  of  his  favourite 
that  stirs  Achilles'  wrath  so  deeply  that  he 
holds  aloof  from  the  war.  "When  Agamem- 
non, after  the  first  series  of  disasters,  sends 
the  ineffectual  embassy  to  Achilles  (in  the 
ninth  book),  he  not  only  offers  many  royal 
gifts,  but  also  proposes  to  restore  Briseis, 
and  declares  that  he  himself  has  shown  her 
no  discourtesy  during  her  enforced  stay 
under  his  roof.  Wlien  she  actually  returns, 
after  the  reconciliation  between  the  quar- 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  4I 

relling  chiefs,  it  is  to  find  the  gentle  Patro- 
clos  dead  in  the  cabin  which  she  had  shared, 
we  know  not  how  long,  with  the  illustrious 
pair  of  friends  and  her  fellow-captives.  In 
her  instant  lament  over  him,  not  only  do 
we  hear  nearly  all  we  shall  ever  learn  of 
her  own  piteous  story,  but  there  also  comes 
into  view  a  peculiarly  winning  and  amiable 
side  of  the  dead  hero's  character. 

Then  Briseis,  as  lovely  as  Aphrodite  the 

golden, 
When  she  beheld  Patroclos,  so  mangled  by 

keen-edged  weapons. 
Throwing  her  arms   about  him,   lamented 

shrill,  with  her  own  hands 
Tearing  her  shapely  neck,  her  breast,  and 

her  glorious  features. 
Then  the  divinely  beautiful  woman  bewailed 

and  addressed  him : 
"O  thou  dearest   of  men  to   my  hapless 

spirit,  Patroclos, 
Living  I  left  thee  here  when  I  from  the 

cabin  departed  ; 
Dead  do  I  find  thee  now  at  my  coming,  O 

chief  of  the  people  ! 
So  evermore  upon  me  comes  sorrow  close 

upon  sorrow. 


42       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Him  upon  whom  my  father  and  mother 

bestowed  me,  my  husband, 
Saw  I  mangled  with  keen-edged  spears,  in 

defence  of  his  city. 
Then,  though  Achilles  the  swift,  when  he 

ravaged  the  city  of  Mynes, 
Slew  my  husband  in  battle,  yet  thou  for- 

badst  me  to  sorrow, 
Promising  I  should  become  the  wife  of  the 

godlike  Achilles : 
He,  thou  saidst,  would  lead  me  with  him 

on  the  vessels  to  Phthia ; 
There  in  the  midst  of  his  folk  would  my 

marriage  feast  be  appointed. 
Therefore  I  mourn  for  thee  dead,  who  living 

ever  wast  gentle." 
Weeping  so  did  she  speak,  and  in  answer 

lamented  the  women. 
As  for  Patroclos  they  moaned :  yet  her  own 

woes  each  was  hewailiiKj. 

(II.  XIX.  282-300.) 

We  cannot  refrain  from  calling  attention 
to  that  closing  phrase,  with  its  quiet  touch 
of  sympathy. 

A  last  glimpse  of  Briseis  tells  us  only 
that  she  regained  the  position  of  Achilles' 
favourite,  held  during  her  absence  by  a  Les- 
bian captive,  "  fair-cheeked  Diomed6."     It 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  43 

is  in  that  magnificent  final  act  of  the  drama, 
when  the  suppliant  king  in  the  cabin  of  his 
foe,  utterly  exhausted  by  vigils  and  fasting, 
is  forced  to  give  way  to  sleep.  A  couch  is 
spread  for  Priam  under  the  portico,  and 

Meantime  Achilles  also  slept,  in  the  well- 
built  cabin's 

Inner  recess,  and  beside  him  was  lying  the 
lovely  Briseis. 

(II.  XXIV.  675,  676.) 

The  first  woman,  however,  to  appear 
prominently  in  the  Iliad  is,  fitly  enough, 
Helen  herself,  the  source  of  all  the  woes  of 
Troy.  Though  she  is  under  the  especial 
charge  of  Aphrodite,  and  is  once  called 
Zeus'  daughter,  Helen  seems  to  be,  in  the 
Iliad,  merely  a  fair,  selfish,  fickle  woman. 
The  marvellous  and  superhuman  elements  in 
her  nature  and  destiny  are,  apparently,  later 
additions  to  the  tale.  We  have  mentioned 
that  the  carrying  off  of  Helen  by  the  roving 
Paris  is  the  first  link  in  the  chain  of  evil 
with  which  Homer  is  acquainted.  Her  own 
sin  is,  perhaps,  confined  to  a  later  acquies- 
cence in  their  union,  and  a  fondness  for 


44      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Paris  which  has  now  largely  passed  away. 
She  has  already  been  twenty  years  in  Ilios. 
In  the  third  book  of  the  Iliad  Helen  is 
summoned  from  the  palace  of  her  lover  by 
the  tidings  that  he  and  Menelaos  are  to  con- 
tend in  single  combat  for  the  possession  of 
herself  and  the  treasures  stolen  with  her. 
Perhaps  her  lack  of  deeper  feeling  is  hinted 
at  by  the  manner  in  which  the  messenger 
finds  her  employed. 

A  magnificent  web  she  was  weaving, 
Twofold,  purple  in  colour,  and  thereon  she 

had  embroidered 
Many  a  battle   of    knightly   Trojans   and 

mailed  Achaians, 
Fought  for  the  sake  of  herself,  and  under 

the  hands  of  Ares. 

(II.  III.  125-128.) 

For  whom  the  single  tear  falls,  as  she  leaves 
her  loom,  Homer  does  not  tell :  it  may  be 
he  —  or  even  she  —  did  not  know.  Save  for 
an  occasional  epithet,  usually  "  trailing- 
robed,"  no  attempt  is  made  to  indicate  her 
beauty.  Instead,  the  old  men,  looking 
down,  from  the  tower  over  the  gate,  upon 
panic-stricken   city,  devastated  fields,  and 


WOMANHOOD    IX    THE    ILIAD  45 

beleaguering    hosts,   murmur    at    her    ap- 
proach :  — 

"Nowise  marvellous  is  it  that  Trojans  and 

mailed  Achaians, 
Over  a  woman  like  this,  through  the  long 

years  suffer  in  sorrow : 
Wondrous  like  to  the  deathless  goddesses  is 

she  in  beauty.' ' 

{Ihid.  156-158.) 

But  of  course  the  sober  second  thought  of 
age  quickly  follows, 

"  Yet  even  so,  though  lovely  §he  be,  let  her 

fare  in  the  vessels  ; 
Let  her  not  leave  vexation  behind  her  for 

us  and  our  children." 

{Ihid.  159,  160.) 

Priam  greets  Helen  with  the  courtesy  of  a 
king,  saying,  among  other  things :  — 

"Nowise  guilty  I  hold  you;  the  gods  are 

responsible  only, 
Who  have  incited  against  me  the  fatal  war 

of  the  Argives." 

{Ibid.  164,  165.) 

After  a  few  words  of  self-abasement,  she 
points  out,  at  the  aged  monarch's  request, 


46      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

the  Hellenic  chieftains  in  the  plain  below. 
The  loneliness  of  her  life  in  Troy,  cut  off 
from  her  race  and  kin,  is  brought  out,  but 
with  no  undue  emphasis,  in  the  passage 
concerning  her  br-others;  which  inciden- 
tally confirms  our  belief  that  to  the  poet 
of  the  Iliad  Helen  and  her  brothers  are 
mortal,  and  of  merely  human  nature.  It 
is  more  prudent  to  quote  here  the  deserv- 
edly famous  and  oft-cited  version  of  Dr. 
Hawtrey.     It  is  Helen  who  speaks :  — 

"  Clearly  the  rest  I  behold  of  the  dark-eyed 

sons  of  Achaia ; 
Known  to  me  well  are  the  faces  of  all ;  their 

names  I  remember ; 
Two,  two  only  remain,   whom  I  see  not 

among  the  commanders, — 
Kastor  fleet  in  the  car,  Polydeukes  brave 

with  the  cestus; 
Own  dear  brethren  of  mine;   one  parent 

loved  us  as  infants. 
Are  they  not  here  in  the  host,  from  the 

shores  of  loved  Lakedaimon, 
Or,  though  they  came  with  the  rest  in  ships 

that  bound  through  the  waters, 
Dare  they  not  enter  the  fight  or  stand  in  the 

council  of  heroes, 


WOMAXHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  47 

All  for  fear  of  the  shame  and  the  taunts  my 
crime  has  awakened  ? ' ' 
So  said  she.     They  long  since  in  Earth's 
soft  arms  were  reposing, 
There  in  their  own  dear  land,  their  father- 
land, Lakedaimon. 

(11.  III.  234-244.) 

The  combat  ends  with  Paris'  discomfiture, 
and  Aphrodite  has  to  interfere  and  snatch 
him  away  in  a  cloud  to  save  his  forfeit  life ; 
but  there  is  nothing  to  indicate  that  Helen 
is  more  concerned  than  any  other  spectator. 
Then  Aphrodite  appears  to  Helen  in  the 
guise  of  an  old  woman,  and  bids  her  return 
home  to  console  her  lover.  Helen  refuses 
with  pettish  rudeness,  bidding  Aphrodite  go 
to  him  herself,  "to  become  his  wife,  or  his 
handmaid."  Her  chief  concern  is  for  her 
own  disgrace. 

"  The  Trojan  women  behind  me 
All  will  jeer,  and  I  in  spirit  have  sorrows 
unnumbered." 

(/6icZ.  411,  412.) 

Yet  to  a  second  and  sterner  summons  she 
renders  prompt  obedience.  Perhaps  the 
goddess  only  stands  for  the  lawless  love 


40      ART    AXD    HUMANITY   IX   HOMER 

in  Helen's  own  breast.  At  least,  there  is 
often  a  temptation  to  have  recourse  to  such 
allegorical  interpretations,  when  a  divinity- 
appears  only  to  a  single  person,  and  merely 
for  a  moment.  So,  in  the  council  scene  al- 
ready mentioned,  Pallas  darts  from  heaven 
to  bid  Achilles  refrain  from  physical  vio- 
lence against  Agamemnon.  She  is  revealed 
only  to  the  son  of  Peleus,  and  seems  little 
more  than  his  own  wiser  self,  his  sober 
second  thought. 

Upon  reaching  the  chamber  of  Paris, 
Helen  taunts  him  with  his  overthrow,  but 
she  is  unable  to  resist  his  wheedling  words, 
and  is  presently  only  too  ready  to  accept 
his  caresses.  There  is  no  moment  when  the 
doom  of  Troy  seems  so  imminent,  and  so 
deserved,  as  at  the  close  of  the  third  book, 
when  we  see,  as  it  were,  at  the  same  glance, 
the  guilty  lovers  in  their  momentary  secu- 
rity, and  Menelaos,  raging  like  a  baffled  lion 
up  and  down  the  place  of  combat,  hoping 
yet  to  discover  and  slay  his  vanquished 
enemy.  The  poet  adds,  grimly,  that  not 
one  of  the  Trojans  would  have  screened 
their  prince,  but  would  gladly  have  pointed 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  49 

him  out  to  the  injured  husband,  "for  he 
was  hated  like  black  death  by  them  all." 

We  are  now  approaching  the  chief  series 
of  home  and  domestic  scenes  in  the  poem, 
the  episode  for  the  sake  of  which  any  paper 
like  the  present  is  largely  written.  There 
is  the  less  objection  to  detaching  Hector's 
visit  to  Troy  from  its  present  connection  in 
the  poem,  because  it  can  hardly  have  been 
composed  for  the  place  it  now  occupies. 
It  is  not  like  Hector  to  leave  a  desperate 
and  losing  fight  that  he  may  take  a  message 
to  the  city,  —  which  any  page  could  have 
carried  as  well  as  he,  —  and  to  linger  there 
for  an  hour  at  least,  forgetful  of  his  duties 
as  commander  in  the  field.  The  pathos 
of  the  immortal  parting  scene  is  materially 
lessened,  also,  as  we  discover  that  Hector, 
for  two  succeeding  nights,  came  back  in 
safety  to  Andromache's  arms,  encamped  on 
the  third  and  fourth  nights  in  the  plain,  and 
perished  only  on  the  fifth  day  ! 

The  episode  of  his  visit  to  Ilios  fills  the 
greater  part  of  the  sixth  book.  Diomedes 
has  more  than  taken  Achilles'  place  during 

E 


50      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

the  first  day's  fighting,  puttmg  men  and 
gods  to  rout.  In  the  midst  of  the  flight 
and  panic  of  the  Trojans,  Helenos,  their 
chief  priest  and  seer,  bids  his  brother  Hec- 
tor, first  rallying  and  ordering  the  terrified 
host,  go  straightway  to  the  city.  He  must 
command  Hecabe,  the  queen,  to  assemble 
the  aged  women  of  Troy  and  to  go  in 
procession  to  Pallas  Athene's  temple  with 
a  propitiatory  offering.  Little  actually 
occurs  during  his  absence.  The  poet  fills 
the  gap  by  recording  the  famous  dialogue 
between  Diomedes  and  Glaucos,  with 
their  exchange  of  armour  on  the  battle- 
field. 

It  would  be  impertinent  to  interrupt  the 
unbroken  flow  of  the  famous  rhapsody 
with  any  extended  comment  or  discussion. 
We  must  venture,  however,  to  call  the 
reader's  attention  beforehand  to  the  skil- 
ful use  that  is  made  of  golden  silence  in 
this  part  of  the  poem  ;  to  Hector  as  he  re- 
ceives with  unuttered  scorn  Paris'  voluble 
excuses ;  to  Andromache,  who  is  already 
departed,  a  tear  in  her  eye  and  a  smile  on 
her  lip,  toward  her  desolate  home,  ere  Hec- 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  5 1 

tor's  last  words  are  uttered ;  but,  above 
all,  to  the  eloquent  muteness  of  Hecab6, 
lady  of  many  sorrows,  turning  away  obe- 
diently to  do  the  bidding  of  her  valorous 
and  dutiful  son,  who  has  just  prayed 
with  all  his  heart  for  the  speedy  death 
of  the  guilty,  selfish,  best-belov6d  younger 
brother ! 

(hector's  visit  to  ilios.) 

When  now  Hector  arrived  at  the  Scpean 
gate  and  the  beech-tree. 

Round  him  quickly  were  gathered  the  daugh- 
ters and  wives  of  the  Trojans, 

Asking  for  news  of  their  friends,  —  of  child 
and  brother  and  husband. 

Hector  commanded  them  unto  the  gods  to 
make  their  petition, 

All  of  them,  each  in  her  turn  ;  but  grief 
was  appointed  for  many. 

Presently  he  was  arrived  at  the  beautiful 
palace  of  Priam. 

It  was  adorned  with  porches  of  polished 
columns.     Within  it 

Chambers,  fifty  in  number,  of  shining  mar- 
ble were  builded  ; 

Close  at  the  side  of  each  other  they  stood  : 
and  there  did  the  princes 


52       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Dwell  Avith  their  lawful  wives.  On  the  in- 
nermost side  of  the  courtyard, 

Opposite,  stood  the  abode  of  the  married 
daughters  of  Priam, 

Twelve  roofed  chambers  of  shining  marble, 
and  close  to  each  other. 

There  had  the  daughters  of  Priam  their 
home,  with  the  men  they  had  wedded. 

There  his  bountiful  mother  came  forth  to 

receive  him,  and  with  her 
Led  she  Laodike,  who  was  the  fairest  in 

face  of  her  daughters. 
Closely  she  clung  to  his  hand,  and  thus  in 

words  she  addressed  him  : 
"Child,  why  is  it  you  come,  deserting  the 

furious  Combat  ? 
Hard  pressed  surely  are  ye  by  the  hateful 

sons  of  the  Argives 
Struggling  about  our  town ;  and  your  own 

spirit  has  brought  you 
Hither,  to  lift  your  hands  unto  Zeus  from 

the  heights  of  the  city. 
Yet  pray  wait  till  I  bring  you  the  wine  that 

is  sweeter  than  honey  ; 
So  you  may  pour  a  libation  to  Zeus  and  the 

other  immortals 
First,  and  then  'twere  well  for  you  your- 
self if  you  quaffed  it. 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  53 

Mightily  wine  increases  the  strength  of  a 
man  exhausted, 

Even  as  you  are  exhausted  by  strife  in  de- 
fence of  your  dear  ones." 

(Homer  often,  as  Horace  says, ' '  confesses 
his  fondness  for  wine  by  singing  its  praises." 
This  passage,  however,  enforces  rather  the 
need  of  temperance,  as  will  quickly  appear. ) 

Then  unto  her  made  answer  the  great 
bright-helmeted  Hector : 

"Proffer  me  not  the  delightsome  wine,  O 
reverend  mother, 

Lest  you  enfeeble  my  limbs,  and  my  force 
and  my  strength  be  forgotten. 

Yet  uncleansed  are  my  hands.  I  fear  me 
to  pour  in  libation 

Gleaming  wine  unto  Zeus.  To  the  cloud- 
wrapt  monarch  of  heaven 

I,  who  with  gore  am  beflecked,  may  dare 
not  to  make  my  petition. 

But  do  you  go  yourself  to  the  fane  of  Athene 
the  Spoiler; 

Gather  the  aged  dames,  and  carry  your  of- 
ferings with  you. 

Ay,  and  a  robe  in  your  hall  that  is  lying, 
the  fairest  and  largest, 

Dearest  of  all  to  your  heart,  you  shall  also 
bear  to  the  temple. 


54        ART    A^'D    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Lay  this  over  the  knees  of  the  fair-tressed 

goddess  Athene. 
Promise  her,  too,  you  will  slay  twelve  oxen 

for  her  in  the  temple, 
Sleek,  that  know  not  the  goad,  if  she  will 

have  pity  upon  you, 
Saving  the   Trojans'  wives,  their  helpless 

children,  and  city, 
If    she   afar   from  sacred  Troy  will  hold 

Diomedes, 
That  imdaunted  spearman,  the  savage,  the 

rouser  of  terror. 
So  do  you  go  your  ways  to  the  fane  of 

Athene  the  Spoiler ; 
I  myself  am  going  to  seek  and  to  call  Alex- 

andros, 
If  he  perchance   be  willing  to  heed  me. 

Yet  were  it  better 
Earth  should   yawn  for  him !     Truly  the 

lord  of  Olympus  has  made  him 
Source  of  woe  unto  Troy,  and  to  Priam  the 

brave  and  his  children. 
Gladly  indeed  unto  Hades'  gate  would  I  see 

him  descending : 
Then  would  I  say  that  my  heart  had  a  joy- 
less sorrow  forgotten." 

So  did  he  speak ;  but  the  mother  returned 
to  her  home,  and  commanded 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  55 

Straightway  her  maids,  who  assembled  the 
aged  dames  of  the  city. 

Hecab6  down  to  lier  odorous  treasure-cham- 
ber descended ; 

There  were  the  garments  richly  embroidered, 
the  labour  of  women, 

Wrought  by  Sidouian  women,  whom  Alex- 
ander the  godlike 

Brought  from  Sidon  with  him,  as  the  wide- 
wayed  water  he  traversed, 

Homeward  sailing  to  Troy  with  Helena 
daughter  of  princes. 

One  robe  Hecab6  lifted,  and  brought  as  a 
gift  to  Athene  : 

This  was  the  one  of  them  all  most  fairly 
embroidered  and  largest ; 

Brightly  it  shone  as  a  star,  and  under  the 
rest  it  was  lying. 

Forth  she  fared,  and  the  ancient  dames  in 
multitude  followed. 

When  they  were  come  to  Athene's  fane 

on  the  heights  of  the  city. 
She   of    the   beautiful  cheeks,  Theano  the 

daughter  of  Kisseus,  — 
She  who  was  wife  to  the  knightly  Antenor, 

—  opened  the  portal. 
Since  she  had  been  of  the  Trojans  appointed 

Athene's  priestess. 


56        ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

They,  with  a  prayerful  wail,  all  raised  their 

hands  to  Athene, 
While  bright-faced  Theano  uplifted  the  robe 

and  bestowed  it 
Over  the  knees  of  the  fair-tressed  goddess 

Athene ;  and  loudly 
Unto  the   daughter  of  Zeus   supreme   she 

made  her  petition. 
"  Royal  Athene,  the  saver  of  towns,  0 

goddess  divinest. 
Break,  I  pray,  Diomedes'  lance,  and  grant 

that  the  hero 
Prone  in  the  dust  shall  lie,  at  the  Sc?ean 

gate  of  the  city. 
So  that  to  thee  straightway  twelve  kine  we 

will  slay  in  thy  temj^le, 
Sleek,  that  know  not  the  goad,  if  thou  wilt 

have  pity  upon  us, 
Saving  the  Trojans'  wives,  their  helpless 

children,  and  city." 
Thus  she  prayed :  —  but  Athene  tossed  her 

head  in  refusal. 

(This  gesture  is  still  perfectly  natural  to 
every  Greek.) 

While  to  the  daughter  of  Zeus  most  high 
they  made  their  petition. 
Hector  had  come  meantime  to  the  beautiful 
palace  of  Paris ; 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  S7 

This  Alexander  himself  had  built,  with  the 

craftiest  workmen,  — 
Best  of  the  builders  were  they  in  the  fertile 

land  of  the  Troad,  — 
Near  unto  Priam's  and  Hector's  home,  on 

the  heights  of  the  city. 
Hector,  beloved  of  Zeus,  passed   into  the 

palace,  and  with  him 
Carried  his  spear,  full  six  yards  long ;  and 

brightly  before  him 
Glittered  the  point  of  bronze,  and  the  golden 

circlet  upon  it. 
Paris  he  found  in  his  chamber,  preparing 

his  beautiful  armour. 
Shield    and    breastplate,    and    testing    his 

bended  bow  and  his  arrows. 
Argive  Helen  was  sitting  among  her  women 

attendants. 
Glorious  works  of  the  loom  her  maidens 

wrought  at  her  bidding. 
Hector  reproached  his  brother  in  words 

of  scorn  as  he  saw  him  : 
"  Sirrah,  it  is  not  well  to  cherish  your  anger 

within  you. 
Perishing  now  are  the  people  about  our  city 

and  rampart. 
Waging  the  strife  ;  but  for  your  sake  only 

the  battle  and  war-cry 
Rages  around  our  town  ;  and  you  would  be 

wroth  with  another, 


58        ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

If  you  should  find  him  skulking  afar  from 

the  hateful  encounter. 
Up,  then,  ere  our  homes  with   devouring 

flames  shall  be  kindled  !  " 


Then,  in  reply  to  his  brother,  thus  spake 

Alexander  the  godlike : 
"  Hector,    indeed   you  reproach   me   with 

justice,  no  more  than  I  merit. 
Therefore  to  you  will  I  speak,  and  do  you 

give  attention  and  hearken. 
Not  out  of  rage  at  the  Trojans  so  much,  nor 

yet  in  resentment 
Here  in  my  chamber  I  sate,  but  I  wished  to 

give  way  to  my  sorrow. 
Yet  even  now  my  wife,  with  gentle  entreaty 

consoling. 
Bade  me  go  forth  to  the  fray,  and  I,  too, 

think  it  is  better. 
Victory  comes  unto  this  one  in  turn,  and 

again  to  another. 
Tarry  a  moment,  I  pray,  till  I  don  mine 

armour  for  battle  ; 
Or,  do  you  go,  and  I  will  pursue,  and,  I 

think,  overtake  you. " 
So  did  he   speak ;    and  to  him  bright- 

helmeted  Hector  replied  not. 
Helen,  however,  with  gentlest  accents  spoke 

and  addressed  him. 


WOMANHOOD    IX    THE    ILIAD  59 

"Brother   of    mine, — of    a  wretch,   of  a 

worker  of  evil,  a  horror ! 
Would  that  the  selfsame  clay  whereon  my 

mother  had  borne  me, 
I  had  been  seized  and  swept  by  the  furious 

breath  of  the  storm-wind 
Into  the  mountains,  or  else  to  the  sea  with 

its  thundering  billows. 
There  had  I  met  my  doom,  ere  yet  these 

deeds  were  accomplished  ! 
Or,  as  the  gods  had  appointed  for  me  this 

destiny  wretched, 
Truly  I  wish  I  had  been  with  a  man  more 

valorous  wedded. 
Who  would  have  heeded  the  scorn  of  the 

folk  and  their  bitter  resentment. 
Never  a  steadfast  spirit  in  this  man  abides, 

nor  will  it 
Ever  hereafter  be  found  ;  and  methinks  his 

reward  will  be  ready  !  — 
Nay,  but  I  pray  you  to  enter,  and  here  on 

a  chair  to  be  seated, 
Brother,  for  on  your  heart  most  heavily  laid 

is  the  burden 
Wrought  by  my  own  base  deeds  and  the 

sinful  madness  of  Paris. 
Evil  the  destiny  surely  that  Zeus  for  us 

twain  has  appointed, 
Doomed  to  be  subjects  of  song  among  men 

of  a  far  generation." 


6o       ART    AND    IIUMAXITY   IX    HOMER 

Then  unto  her  made  answer  the  great 

bright-helmeted  Hector : 
"Helena,  bid  me  not  sit, — nor  will  you, 

tho'  gracious,  persuade  me. 
Eagerly  yearns  my  spirit  to  fight  in  defence 

of  the  Trojans, 
While  among  them  there  is  longing  already 

for  me  in  my  absence. 
This  one  I  pray  you  to  rouse,  and  let  him 

make  haste  for  himself,  too. 
So  he  may  yet  overtake  me  before  I  depart 

from  the  city, 
Since  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  my  home,  in 

the  hope  I  may  find  there 
Both  my  wife  and  my  infant  son,  and  the 

rest  of  my  household  : 
For  if  again  I  may  come  returning  in  safety 

I  know  not, 
Or  if  already  the  gods  by  the  hands  of 

Achaians  shall  slay  me." 

He,  so   speaking,  departed,  —  the  great 

bright-helmeted  Hector. 
Presently  into  his  own  well-builded  palace 

he  entered. 
Yet  his  wife,  white-armed  Andromache,  was 

not  within  it. 
She  with  her  infant  child  and  her  fair-robed 

maid  had  departed. 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  6l 

Now  on  the  tower  at  the  gate  she  stood,  and 

bewailed  and  lamented. 
Hector,  when  he  had  found  not  the  blame- 
less lady  within  doors, 
Came  and  stood  at  the  threshold,  and  thus 

did  he  speak  to  his  servants  : 
"  Tell  me,  I  pray  you,  0  serving-maidens, 

the  truth  with  exactness. 
Whither  is  lovely  Andromache  out  of  her 

palace  departed  ? 
Is  she  then  gone  to  the  home  of  my  brothers' 

wives,  or  my  sisters'. 
Or  did  she  fare  to  the  shrine  of  the  goddess 

Athene,  where  others. 
Fair-tressed  Trojan  dames,  are  appeasing 

the  terrible  goddess  ?  " 
Then  made  answer  to  him  their  faithful 

housekeeper,  saying : 
"  Hector,  since  you  have  bidden  us  tell  you 

the  truth  with  exactness, 
Not  to  your  sisters'  home,  nor  your  brothers' 

wives'  she  departed, 
Nor  did  she  go  to  the  shrine  of  the  goddess 

Athene,  where  others. 
Fair-tressed  Trojan  dames,  are  appeasing 

the  terrible  goddess. 
But  to  the  tower  of  Ilios  sped  she,  since  it 

was  told  her 
Hard  were  the  Trojans  prest,  and  great  was 

the  might  of  the  Argives. 


62       ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

Therefore  she  in  her  eager  haste  has  rushed 

to  the  rampart 
Like  one  crazed ;  and  the  nurse,  with  the 

boy  in  her  arms,  went  also." 
So    did  the   servant  reply,    and   Hector 

rushed  from  the  palace, 
Back  by  the  well-built  ways,  and  the  path 

he  so  lately  had  traversed. 
So  through  the  city  he  passed,  and  came  to 

the  Sc3ean  gateway. 
Where  he  intended  forth  to  the  plain  and 

the  battle  to  sally. 
There  did  his  bounteous  wife,  Andromache, 

running  to  meet  him 
Come,  —  Andromache,  child  of  Eetion,  fear- 
less in  spirit. 
He,  Eetion,  dwelt  at  the  foot  of  deep-wooded 

Plakos  ; 
Ruled  the  Cilician  folk  in  Thebe  under  the 

mountain. 
She  was  his  daughter,  and  wife  unto  brazen- 

helmeted  Hector. 
So  she  came  and  met  him,  and  with  her  fol- 
lowed the  servant. 
Clasping  the  innocent  boy  to  her  bosom,  — 

yet  but  an  infant. 
Hector's  well-loved  child,  —  and  brightly  he 

shone  as  a  star  shines. 
Hector  Scamandrios  called  him,  the  others 

Astyanax  named  him, 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  63 

—  Prince  of  the  city,  —  for  Hector  alone 
was  Ilios'  bulwark. 

(Hector  is  too  modest  to  call  his  child 
Lord  of  the  Town,  and  names  him  instead 
Child  of  our  River.  Some  commentators 
have  cut  out  these  lines  as  unpoetical.) 

Smiling  the  father  stood,  as  he  looked  at 
his  son,  and  in  silence. 

Close  to  his  side,  with  a  tear  in  her  eye, 
Andromache,  pressing, 

Clung  to  her  husband's  hand,  and  thus  she 
spoke  and  addressed  him  : 
"Ah  me,  surely  your  prowess  will  slay 
you  !     Nor  will  you  have  pity. 

Not  for  your  helpless  child,  nor  yet  for  my- 
self the  ill-fated. 

Soon  I  of  you  shall  be  robbed.    Ere  long  the 
Achaians  will  slay  you. 

All  of  them  rushing  upon  you  !     And  truly, 
for  me  it  were  better. 

When  I  of  you  am  bereft,  to  go  down  to  the 
grave.    Nor  hereafter 

May  consolation  be  mine,  when  once  your 
doom  is  accomplished, 

Only  laments  !     No  father  have  I,  nor  rever- 
end mother. 

Well  do  you  know  how  godlike   Achilles 
murdered  my  father, 


64       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

When  he  had  sacked  our  city,  that  well- 
built  town  of  CiUcians, 

Theb^  with  lofty  gates  ;  and  Eetion  also  he 
murdered, 

Though  he  despoiled  him  not,  since  that  he 
dreaded  in  spirit. 

There  did  the  victor  burn  his  body,  in  beau- 
tiful armour. 

He,  too,  heaped  up  a  mound  ;  and  the  elms 
are  growing  about  it, 

Set  by  the  Oreads,  sprung  from  Zeus,  who 
is  lord  of  the  aegis. 

Seven  my  brethren  were,  who  together  abode 
in  the  palace. 

All  on  a  single  day  passed  down  to  the 
dwelling  of  Hades, 

Each  of  them  slain  by  the  sword  of  the  fleet- 
footed,  godlike  Achilles,  — 

They,  and  the  white-fleeced  sheep,  and  the 
herds  of  slow-paced  oxen. 

(There  is  something  peculiarly  tender  in 
the  wistful  memory  which  recalled  these 
humbler  victims,  that  had  shared  in  the 
general  wreck  of  the  happy  pastoral  life.) 

Lastly,  my  mother,  who  ruled  as  queen 
under  deep-wooded  Plakos : 

Though  he  had  led  her  hither  along  with 
the  rest  of  his  booty, 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  65 

Yet  he  released  her  again,  and  accepted  a 

bountiful  ransom. 
Then,  in  the  hall  of  her  father,  the  huntress 

Artemis  slew  her. 

(That  is,  she  died  a  sudden  and  painless 
death.) 

Hector,  so  you  are  to  me  both  father  and 

reverend  mother ; 
You  are  my  brother  as  well,  and  you  are 

my  glorious  husband. 
Pray  have  pity  upon  me,  and  tarry  you  here 

on  the  rampart, 
Lest  you  may  leave  as  an  orphan  your  boy, 

and  your  wife  as  a  widow. 
Order  your  people  to  stand  by  the  fig-tree, 

since  upon  that  side 
Easier  gained  is  the  wall,  and  exposed  to 

assault  is  the  city. 
(Certainly  thrice  already  the  bravest  have 

come  to  attempt  it : 
Ajax  the  less  and  the   greater,  renowned 

Idomeneus  with  them, 
Tydeus'  valorous  son,  and  both  of  the  chil- 
dren of  Atreus. 
Whether  because  some  man  well  skilled  in 

augmy  bade  them, 
Or  it  may  chance   that  their   own  hearts 

urged  and  impelled  them  to  do  it.") 

F 


66        ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Then  unto  her  made   ans^Yer  the  great 

bright-helmeted  Hector  : 
"  Surely  for  all  these  things,  my  wife,  am 

I  troubled,  but  greatly 
Shamed  were  1  before  Trojans  and  long- 
robed  Trojan  matrons, 
If  like  a  coward  I  lingered  afar  from  the 

war  and  the  battle. 
Nor  has  my  heart  so  bade  me,  because  I 

have  learned  to  be  always 
Valiant  and  ready  to  fight  in  the  foremost 

line  of  our  people, 
Striving  to  win  high  fame,  for  myself  and 

for  Priam  my  father. 
This,  too,  well  do  I  know,  —  in  my  heart 

and  my  soul  it  kbideth  : 
Surely  a  day  shall  come  when  the  sacred  city 

shall  perish, 
Priam  himself,  and  the  folk  of  Priam  the 

valorous  spearman. 
Yet  far  less  do  I  grieve  for  the  Trojans'  sor- 
rows hereafter. 
Even  the  woes  of  Hecab^'s  self,  and  of  Priam 

the  monarch, 
Or  for  the  fate  of  my  brethren,  though  many 

will  perish  undaunted. 
Falling  prone  in  the  dust  by  the  hands  of  the 

merciless  foemen,  — 
Less  do  I  grieve  for  all  this  than  for  you, 

when  a  warrior  Achaian 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  6/ 

Leads  you  lamenting  away,  for  the  day  of 

your  freedom  is  ended. 
Then  as  another's  slave  at  the  loom  you  will 

labour  in  Argos, 
Or  from  the  spring  Hypereia  draw  water,  or 

else  from  Messeis, 
Oft  in  reluctance,  because   compulsion  is 

heavy  upon  you. 
Then,  as  you  weep,  perchance  'twill  be  said 

by  one  who  shall  see  you, 
'  Yon   is   Hector's   wife,   who  still   among 

knightly  Trojans 
Bravest  proved  in  the  fray,  when  Troy  was 

with  battle  encircled.' 
So  some  day  they  will  speak,  and  again  will 

the  pain  be  repeated, 
Since  of  so  faithful  a  husband  bereft  you 

suffer  in  bondage. 
Verily  dead  may  I  be,  and  the  earth  heaped 

heavy  upon  me, 
Ere  I  may  hear  thy  cry,  or  behold  thee 

dragged  by  the  foemen." 

Speaking  thus,  for  his  son  reached  out  the 

illustrious  Hector  ; 
Yet  he  backward  recoiled  on  the  breast  of 

the  faithful  attendant. 
Crying  aloud  in  his  fright  at  the  sight  of 

his  father  beloved. 


68        ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

'Twas  by  the  brazen  mail  and  the  horse- 
hair plume  he  was  frightened, 

Seeing  it  nodding  so  fiercely  adown  from 
the  crest  of  his  helmet. 

Then  out  laughed  the  affectionate  father 
and  reverend  mother. 

Presently  now  the  illustrious  Hector  lifted 
his  helmet 

Off  from  his  head  ;  on  the  ground  he  laid  it, 
resplendently  gleaming. 

When  he  had  tossed  in  his  arms  his  well- 
loved  son,  and  caressed  him, 

Then  unto  Zeus  and  the  other  immortals  he 
made  his  petition : 

"Zeus,  and  ye  other  immortals,  I  pray  you 
that  even  as  I  am 

So  this  boy  may  become  pre-eminent  over 
the  Trojans, 

Mighty  and  fearless  as  I,  and  in  Ilios  rule 
by  his  prowess  ! 

May  it  hereafter  be  said,  '  He  is  better  by 
far  than  his  father : ' 

(It  is  a  verse  any  man  might  write  in 
golden  letters  on  the  wall  of  the  chamber 
where  lies  his  first-born  son :  but  we  cannot 
break  off  here,  though  the  following  lines  are 
an  unwelcome  reminder  that  Hector,  like 
Achilles,  is  a  "splendid  savage"  after  all !) 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  69 

When  he  returns  from  the  fray  with  the 
blood-stamed  armour  of  heroes, 

When  he  has  smitten  the  foe,  and  gladdened 
the  heart  of  his  mother, ' ' 
So  did  he  speak  ;  and  into  the  arms  of 
his  wife,  the  beloved, 

Laid  he  the  boy,  and  she  in  her  fragrant 
bosom  received  him, 

Laughing  with  tears  in  her  eyes.     Her  hus- 
band was  moved  as  he  saw  her : 

"Dear  one,  be  not  for  me  so  exceedingly 
troubled  in  spirit. 

No  one  against  Fate's  will  shall  send  me 
untimely  to  Hades. 

None  among  mortal  men  his  destiny  ever 
evadeth,  — 

Neither  the  coward  nor  hero,  when  once  his 
doom  is  appointed. 

(Such  fatalism  is  perhaps  especially  com- 
mon to  the  soldierly  temper  in  every  age.) 

Pray  you,  go  to  your  home,  and  there  give 

heed  to  your  duties, 
Tasks  of  the  loom  and  the  spindle,  and  lay 

your  commands  on  the  servants, 
So  they  may  work  your  will.    Let  men  take 

thought  for  the  combat, 
All  —  I  most  of  them  all  — whoso  are  in 

Ilios  native." 


70   ART  AND  HUMANITY  IN  HOMER 

So  having  spoken,  illustrious  Hector  took 

up  the  helmet, 
Horsehair-crested.     The  faithful  wife  had 

homeward  departed, 
Turning  ever  about,  and  fast  were  her  tears 

down  dropping. 
Presently  now  to  her  palace  she  came,  that 

so  fairly  was  builded, 
Home  of  Hector,  destroyer  of  heroes :  many 

a  servant 
Found  she  within,  and  among  them  all  she 

aroused  lamentation. 
They  in  his  home  over  Hector  lamented, 

while  yet  he  was  living. 
Since  they  believed  he  would  come  no  more 

from  battle  returning. 
Nor  would  escape  from  the  hands  and  might 

of  the  valiant  Achaians. 

(II.  VI.  237-502.) 

These  three  women,  Hecabe,  Helen,  and 
Andromache,  appear  again  in  the  closing 
scenes  of  the  drama.  Hecabe  in  particular 
is  seen  quite  frequently  in  the  later  books  ; 
and  yet,  she  does'  not  appeal  to  us,  as  the 
type  of  motherhood  in  bereavement,  by  any 
means  so  powerfully  as  might  be  expected. 
In  fact,  the  dignity  even  of  her  queenly 


WOMANHOOD    IX    THE    ILIAD  7 1 

position  is  sadly  lessened  in  our  eyes,  per- 
haps in  the  eyes  of  the  ancient  Greeks,  by 
her  apparently  contented  acquiescence  in 
the  conditions  of  a  polygamous  household. 
Sometimes  she  seems  little  better  than  the 
head  of  an  Oriental  harem.  For  example, 
in  the  last  book,  Priam,  endeavouring  to 
move  Achilles'  heart  to  pity,  speaks  as  fol- 
lows, with  no  touch  of  shame,  feeling  only 
the  pathos  of  his  own  loss  :  — 

"Fifty  numbered  my  sons  when  to  Ilios 
came  the  Achaians : 
Nineteen  borne  of  a  single  mother  to  me, 

and  the  others 
Children  of  women  that  dwelt  in  my  royal 

abode  ;  but  already 
Now  are  the  knees  of  the  most  by  Ares  the 
furious  broken." 

(II.  XXIV.  495-498. ) 

Such  a  half-brother,  Gorgythion,  falls  at 
Hector's  side  in  one  of  the  earlier  combats 
of  the  poem,  and  his  mother,  Castianeira, 
is  there  spoken  of  as  "wedded,"  by  Priam, 
"from  Thrace,  and  like  the  goddesses  in 
beauty." 

Yet  worse  remains  :  when  Hector  tarries 


72        ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

alone  outside  the  town  to  face  the  enraged 
Achilles,  Priam  and  Hecab6  lean  from  the 
wall  together,  bidding  him  have  pity  on 
their  gray  hairs  and  come  within  the  gates  ; 
and  Priam  says :  — 

"Nay,  even  now  two  sons,  Polydoros  and 

also  Lycaon, 
I  am  unable  to  see  as  the  host  throngs  into 

the  city. 
These  Laothoe  bore  unto  me,  —  most  noble 

of  women. 
If  they  still  are  alive  in  the  Argive  encamp- 
ment, surely 
They  shall  be  ransomed  with  gold  and  with 

bronze,  for  within  is  abundance. 
Large  was  the  dower  illustrious  Altes  gave 

with  his  daughter. 
If  they  already  are  dead  and  abide  in  the 

dwelling  of  Hades, 
Bitter  the  sorrow  will  be  to  my  heart  and 

the  mother  who  bore  them. ' ' 

(11.  XXII.  46-53.) 

It  is  hard  to  believe  that  the  poet  who 
created  Andromache,  —  if  this  be  indeed 
his  voice,  —  is  unconscious  how  much  he  is 
weakening  Hecab^'s  hold  upon  our  sympa- 
thies.    There  is,  nevertheless,  real  pathos  in 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  73 

her  words,  which  presently  follow,  though 
they  are  but  a  brief  pendant  to  a  much 
longer  appeal  of  Priam. 

Tearing  open  her  robe  and  revealing  her 

breast  with  the  one  hand, 
So  she  a  tear  let  fall,  and  in  winged  words 

she  addrest  him : 
"Hector,  my  child,  this  bosom  revere,  and 

have  pity  upon  me  ! 
If  with  my  breast  I  ever  have  made  thee 

forgetful  of  sorrows, 
Now  be  mindful  thereof,  dear  child,  and, 

avoiding  the  foeman, 
Enter  within  our  walls  ;  stand  not  thus  for- 
ward to  meet  him. 
Merciless  is  he,  and,  if  he  shall  slay  thee, 

never,  my  darling, 
I  and  thy  bounteous  wife  on  thy  bed  shall 

lay  thee,  lamenting : 
Yon  by  the  Argive  vessels  the  swift-footed 

dogs  will  devour  thee." 

{Ihid.  80-89.) 

When  her  worst  forebodings  have  been 
realized,  and  Achilles  drags  Hector's  life- 
less body  behind  his  chariot  as  he  drives 
exultantly  shoreward,  the  pitiful  group  "  in 
the  chamber  over  the  gate  "  is  again  brought 


74        ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

distinctly  into  view,  as  it  were  to  complete 
the  picture. 

And  the  mother 
Tore  her  hair,  and  flung  far  from  her  the 

"beautiful  head-dress, 
When  she  beheld  her  son,  and  loud  and 

shrill  she  lamented. 
Pitiful,  too,  was  the  father's  wail,  and  about 

him  the  people, 
Everywhere  in  the  city,  to  moaning  and 

weeping  betook  them. 

(II.  XXII.  405-409.) 

But  here  again  the  father  is  unmistakably 
made  the  chief  figure.  He  can  hardly  be 
restrained  in  his  frenzy  from  rushing  forth 
at  the  gates  to  share  his  son's  doom.  He 
fully  realizes  now  that  Hector  was  most 
dear  to  him  among  all  his  children.  Though 
so  many  of  his  sons  have  fallen  at  Achilles' 
hands,  he  mourns  for  Hector  more  than  for 
all  the  rest.  He  wishes  he  might  at  any 
rate  have  held  him  dying  in  his  arms :  — 

"So  we  at  least  had  sated  ourselves  with 

weeping  and  wailing, 
I  myself,  and  the   evil-fated  mother  who 

bore  him." 


WOMANHOOD    IX    THE    iLlAD  y$ 

So  did  lie  make  his  moan,  and  the  towns- 
men groaning  responded. 
Then  the   Trojan  women    lamented,    and 

Hecab6  led  them  : 
"  Wretched  am  I,  my  child !     Why  am  I 

alive  in  my  sorrow  ? 
Low  thou  liest  in  death,  who  by  night  and 

by  day  in  our  city 
Ever  my  pride  hast  been,  and  to  all  our 

people  a  blessing, 
Both  to  the  men  and  the  women  of  Troy. 

By  all  thou  wert  greeted 
Like  to  a  god :  and  indeed  thou  wert  their 

honour  and  glory 
During  thy  life  !     Yet  now  thy  death  and 

doom  are  accomplished." 

(Ibid.  427-436.) 

It  illustrates  excellently  the  wise  mod- 
eration and  simplicity  of  the  greatest  ar- 
tists, that  Andromache  is  not  present  as 
a  witness  of  Hector's  unworthy  flight  and 
death.  At  this  point  we  have  again  a 
glimpse  of  her  home-life,  which  is  clearly 
intended  to  recall  that  memorable  earlier 
scene  in  which  she  appeared. 

But  Andromache  knew  not 
Yet  of  her  Hector's  fate.     No  messenger 
came  with  the  tidings, 


76       ART    AND    IIUMAXITY   IN   HOMER 

Saying  her  husband  had  tarried  outside  of 

the  gate  of  the  city. 
She  was  weaving  a  web,  in  the  inmost  room 

of  her  palace, 
Twofold,   purple,  and  many  a  flower  she 

broidered  upon  it. 

The  quiet  contrast  with  Helen's  broidery 
{infra,  p.  44)  is  no  accident,  or  at  least  one 
of 'the  divine  accidents  that  befall  only  con- 
summate genius. 

Unto  the  serving-maids  in  her  hall  she  had 
given  commandment 

Over  the  fire  to  set  a  mighty  tripod,  that 
Hector 

Might  have  water,  to  bathe,  when  home- 
ward he  came  from  the  battle. 

Hapless  one  !  for  she  knew  not  that  he,  far, 
far  from  the  bathing, 

Under  Achilles'  hands  by  keen-eyed  Pallas 
was  vanquished. 

Then  from  the  tower  she  heard  the  shrieks 
and  the  voice  of  lamenting. 

Trembling  seized  on  her  body,  the  shuttle 
was  dropt  from  her  fingers. 

Straightway  unto  her  fair-tressed  serving- 
maids  she  commanded : 

"Come  ye  twain  with  me  to  behold  what 
deeds  are  accomplished. 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  'J'J 

That  was  the  voice  of  my  husband's  rever- 
end mother.     "\Yithm  me 

Up  to  the  lips  my  heart  dotli  leap,  and  my 
knees  are  enfeebled ; 

Surely  calamity  now  draws  nigh  to  the  chil- 
dren of  Priam. 

Would  that  the  tidings  never  might  come 
to  my  ears  !     But  I  fear  me 

Terribly,  lest  bold  Hector  alone  by  the  god- 
like Achilles 

Be  cut  off  from  the  city,  and  unto  the  plain 
may  be  driven. 

So  ere  now  hath  he  ended  the  perilous  pride 
that  possessed  him. 

Since  he  never  would  stay  in  the  midst  of 
the  ranks  of  his  people. 

Far  to  the  vanward  he  hastened,  in  hardi- 
hood yielding  to  no  man." 

Such  were  her  words,  and  out  of  the  hall  as 
if  frantic  she  darted. 

Wildly  her  heart  was  throbbing ;  and  with 
her  followed  the  maidens. 
When  to  the  battlements  she  was  come, 
and  the  throng  of  the  people. 

There  on  the  rampart  taking  her  stand  she 
gazed,  and  beheld  him 

Dragged  in  front  of  the  town,  and  the  swift- 
hooved  steeds  of  Achilles 

Merciless  drew  him  along  to  the  hollowed 
ships  of  the  Argives. 


78       ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

Over  her  eyes  like  a  veil  descended  the 
darkness  of  Hades. 

Backward  she  fell  in  a  swoon,  and  her  soul 
fled  out  of  her  body. 

Far  from  her  head  she  cast  the  shining 
adornment  upon  it, 

—  Frontlet,  and  net  for  the  hair,  and  head- 
band skilfully  plaited. 

Even  her  veil,  — 'twas  a  gift  from  Aphro- 
dite the  golden. 

On  that  day  whereon  bright-helmeted  Hec- 
tor had  led  her 

Out  of  Eetion's  hall,  having  furnished  num- 
berless bride-gifts. 

Round  her  gathered  the  sisters  of  Hector, 
and  wives  of  his  brothers. 

They  in  their  midst  upheld  her,  who  nigh 
unto  death  was  distracted. 

When  she  again  drew  breath,  and  her  soul 
had  returned  to  her  body, 

Heavily  sobbing  she  cried,  in  the  midst  of 
the  women  of  Troia, 

"Hector !  ill-fated  am  I !  to  the  selfsame 
doom  we  were  nurtured, 

Both  of  us  :  you  in  Troy,  in  the  royal  pal- 
ace of  Priam, 

I  in  Theb6,  under  the  deep- wooded  mountain 
of  Plakos, 

There  in  Eetion's  hall,  who  reared  me  when 
I  was  little  ! 


WOMANHOOD   IN   THE   ILIAD  79 

Wretched  were  father  and  child  !     I  would 
I  had  ne'er  been  begotten  ! 

—  Now  unto  Hades'  abode  in  the  depths  of 
the  earth  thou  departest. 

I  am  behind  thee  left,  in  my  bitter  bereave- 
ment, a  widow 

Here  in  our  halls :  and  our  boy  is  yet  but 
an  infant  and  helpless, 

Child  of  ill-starred  parents,  of  me  and  of 
thee  :  and  in  nowise 

Thou,  when  dead,  and  he,  shall  be  to  each 
other  a  comfort." 

(H.  437-486.) 

(A  passage  of  about  twenty  lines  has 
been  omitted  at  this  point  from  Androm- 
ache's lament.  It  is  a  somewhat  famous 
picture  of  an  orphan's  lot.  He  is  described 
as  thrust  aside  by  his  father's  friends  while 
they  sit  at  the  feast,  as  beaten,  starved, 
and  thirsty.  Surely  this  could  not  be  the 
lot  of  Hector's  son  while  Troy  stood  un- 
conquered.  When  Astyanax  is  directly 
mentioned,  it  is  as  one  who  had  fed  ' '  only 
on  marrow  and  fat  flesh  of  sheep  "  :  a 
strange  diet  for  an  infant  in  the  nurse's 
arms  !  Ancient  and  modern  students  are 
generally  agi'eed  that  the  verses  cannot  be 


8o       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Homeric.)  The  following  lines  form  the 
close  of  the  twenty-second  book,  the  cen- 
tral event  of  which  is  Hector's  death  :  — 

"  Now  by  the  curving  Achaian  vessels  afar 

from  thy  parents, 
When  thou  the   hounds    hast    sated,   the 

writhing  worms  shall  devour  thee. 
Naked  thou  art,  and  yet  in  our  palace  the 

garments  are  ready, 
Delicate  beautiful  garments,  the  handiwork 

of  the  women. 
All  these  I  will  destroy  in  devouring  flame : 

though  in  nowise 
This  will  be  helpful  to  thee,  nor  shalt  thou 

within  them  be  lying, 
Yet  among  Trojan  women  and  men  it  will 

bring  to  thee  honour." 
—  Thus  she  lamenting  spoke,  and  wailing 

responded  the  women. 

(II.  507-515.) 

Only  the  two  closing  books  of  the  great 
epic  remain  to  be  mentioned.  The  twenty- 
third  is  chiefly  occupied  with  the  games 
celebrated  in  Patroclos'  honour.  These 
scenes,  naturally,  afford  little  material 
suited  to  our  present  purpose.  There  is, 
however,  a  sinister  reminder  of  the  abun- 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  51 

dance  of  captive  women,  doubtless  largely 
of  gentle  birth,  held  as  prisoners  in  the 
camp.  For  the  contest  in  wrestling,  the 
first  prize  is  a  great  tripod,  intended  for 
use  over  the  fire,  and  estimated  by  the 
Greeks  as  of  twelve  oxen's  worth.  The 
"  consolation  "  prize  for  the  loser  is  a 
woman.  Though  "  skilled  in  many  tasks," 
she  is  valued  only  at  four  oxen.  The 
victor  in  the  chariot-race  is  to  win  both  a 
woman  and  a  tripod. 

The  poet,  or  poets,  realized  fully  the 
effective  contrast  between  these  three  un- 
happy matrons,  —  Andromache,  Hecab6, 
Helen,  —  and  the  scenes  of  savage  strife 
about  them.  We  shall  see  them  appear 
yet  more  prominently  at  the  very  close  of 
the  stately  epic  pageant.  But  yet,  in  regard 
to  this  trio,  as  well  as  the  less  prominent 
women  of  the  Iliad,  it  should  be  kept 
always  in  mind  that  they  are  not  intended 
to  become,  even  for  the  time  being,  the 
chief  object  of  interest.  Each  of  them 
might  indeed  be  so  treated  —  and  in  fact 
every  one  of  the  three  was  so  treated  —  in 
Euripidean  tragedy.     But  here  they  are,  so 


82      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

to  speak,  not  sculptured  in  the  round,  and 
refuse  to  be  viewed  as  complete  character- 
studies.  Though  drawn  in  firm  and  strong 
outlines,  by  a  master's  hand,  they  bear  to 
the  great  temple  of  epic  song  merely  the 
relation  of  figures  in  the  frieze,  or  of  the 
group  upon  a  metope.  One  object  of  such 
a  special  study  as  the  present  paper  is,  to 
induce  the  reader  to  observe  these  same 
figures  more  carefully  in  their  proper  con- 
nection and  environment,  as  component 
parts  of  the  whole  poem. 

The  Greeks  reserved  their  highest  admi- 
ration for  devoted  friendship  or  passionate 
love  between  men.  Hence  the  bond  of 
Achilles  and  Patroclos  held  the  loftiest 
place  in  the  appreciation  of  the  classic 
people.  The  wedded  happiness  of  Hector 
and  Andromache  appeals,  it  may  be,  more 
powerfully  to  us  than  to  Homer's  first 
hearers,  certainly  far  more  strongly  than 
it  did  to  Athenians  of  the  fifth  or  fourth 
century  b.c.  Doubtless  it  was  partly  this 
feeling  that  led  to  the  inclusion  of  Hector, 
not  Achilles,  among  the  three  pagan  knights, 
who.  with  three  Jewish  heroes  and  three 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  83 

Christian  champions,  were  held  up  for  ad- 
miration in  mediaeval  times  as  ideals  of 
chivalry.  Andromache  is  not,  however, 
dwarfed  or  overshadowed  even  by  her 
heroic  and  patriotic  lord. 

Of  Helen  this  is  not  the  place  to  speak 
at  length.  She  can  hardly  be  treated  at 
all  without  the  inclusion  of  the  scene  where 
she  reappears,  in  the  Odyssey,  radiant,  fas- 
cinating, and  happy,  despite  all  these  years 
of  shame,  the  well-loved  wife  of  a  con- 
tented Menelaos  !  Indeed,  her  figure  is 
so  frequently  seen  in  later  literature,  of 
ancient  and  modern  times,  that  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  stop  short  of  Goethe's 
Helena.  As  for  Andrew  Lang's  collabo- 
ration in  an  audacious  continuation  of  the 
Homeric  story,  in  the  form  of  a  sensational 
prose  romance,  he  himself  realized  the  im- 
piety of  the  attempt  before  it  was  fairly 
completed.  We  can  only  say  Amen  to  his 
confession,  —  and  accept  his  later  volume, 
in  defence  of  Homer's  unity,  as  a  manful 
palinode. 

We  have  already  indicated  our  feeling, 
that    the    epic    treatment   has   weakened, 


84      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

doubtless  intentionally  weakened,  our  nat- 
ural sympathy  with  the  sorrows  of  Hecab6. 
The  poet  probably  always  remembers  that 
he  is  himself  a  Greek.  Certainly  he  always 
keeps  it  before  us,  that  not  only  Paris,  but 
Troy,  is  utterly  in  the  wrong.  And  it  is 
above  all  else  the  weak  devotion  and  sub- 
mission of  the  royal  parents  to  Paris'  law- 
less desire  that  draws  down  ruin  upon  all 
Ilios  as  well  as  upon  himself.  It  may  be 
that  the  polygamous  life  of  the  palace  is  to 
be  thought  of  as  aiding  in  blinding  their 
eyes  to  the  inexpiable  nature  of  the  wrong 
done  Menelaos. 

These  impressions  are  set  down  with 
somewhat  more  confidence,  because  we 
find,  present  in  the  poem,  a  purer,  more 
beautiful,  and,  upon  the  whole,  a  more 
pathetic  figure  of  motherhood  in  sorrow, 
than  that  of  Hecab^.  It  is  a  character 
which  at  first  thought  may  seem  to  lie 
beyond  the  limits  of  our  announced  sub- 
ject. I  mean  the  sea-nymph  Thetis,  the 
mother  of  Achilles. 

Homer's  divinities  in  general  do  not  ap- 
pear to  be  taken  quite  seriously  even  by 


WOMANHOOD    IX    THE    ILIAD  85 

their  creator.  Closely  interwoven  as  they 
are  with  the  plot,  they  can  rarely  be  said 
to  control  it.  Indeed  events  would  appar- 
ently take  much  the  same  course  without 
them.  Though  we  may  not  feel  all  the 
grim  indignation  of  Plato  as  we  watch  their 
actions,  we  can  hardly  fail  to  agree  with  him, 
that  they  are  surprisingly  bad  models  of 
behaviour  to  set  before  the  youthful  mind. 
The  childish  temper  of  the  goddesses,  in  par- 
ticular, culminates  in  the  astonishing  scene 
of  the  twenty-first  book,  where  nearly  all 
the  divinities  take  part,  in  almost  ludicrous 
fashion,  with  Greeks  or  Trojans  in  the  fray. 
Hera,  irritated  by  a  bold  word  from  Arte- 
mis' lips,  has  seized  both  the  maiden's 
wrists  in  her  left  hand,  and  with  the  right 

Smiling 
Beat  her  over  the  ears,  while  this  way  and 
that  she  was  turning. 

(II.  XXI.  491-492.) 

The  weapon  used  in  this  chastisement  is 
the  huntress'  own  bow  and  quiver,  and 
the  arrows  fall  meanwhile  far  and  wide  in 
the  dust.      Presently,   when  released,  the 


86      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

archer-maid  flies  for  comfort  to  her  august 
father,  who,  smiling,  holds  her  upon  his 
knee  while  she  bitterly  complains  of  his 
ill-tempered  spouse,  —  mother  Leto  mean- 
time carefully  gathering  up  the  scattered 
arrows.  Of  this  remarkable  family  we 
are  content  to  see  little  more,  as  the  epic 
gathers  yet  greater  dignity  and  force  through 
the  closing  books. 

But  Thetis  is  hardly  of  their  kin,  in  no 
sense  of  their  kind ;  and  though  she  is  a 
divinity,  dwelling  with  the  rest  of  her  race 
in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  it  is  in  a  wholly 
human  relation  and  character  that  she  so 
often  meets  us  in  the  Iliad. 

As  to  the  unique  and  undying  charm  of 
the  silvery-footed  Nereid,  we  appeal  fear- 
lessly to  every  schoolboy.  (That  is,  to 
Macaulay's  schoolboy,  whom  we  may  fitly 
set  here  to  face  the  New  Zealander  invoked 
in  our  prologue.)  Any  one  who  has  read 
the  tale,  no  matter  how  painfully  scanned 
through  the  darkened  window  of  a  Greek 
text,  cannot  have  forgotten  the  thrill  of 
pleasure,  the  full  assurance  that  we  were 
indeed  in  the  land  of  Enchantment,  that 


WOMAXHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  87 

came  over  us  at  tlie  point  where  Achilles' 
tearful  appeal  upon  the  lonely  strand  is 
instantly  answered :  — 

And  his  reverend  mother  did  hear  him 
Where   in  the  depths   of   the  sea  by  her 
ancient  sire  she  was  sitting. 

(II.  I.  357-358.) 
Though 

Like  a  mist  from  the  brine  she  uprises, 
{Ibid.  359.) 

yet  the  goddess  is  at  once  lost  in  the 
mother  as  she  takes  her  place  beside  her 
mortal  son.  And  under  her  caressing  hand 
the  strong-souled  warrior  is  again  but  a 
weeping  boy  at  that  mother's  knee.  He 
gladly  obeys  her  bidding  to  repeat  to  her 
all  the  story  of  his  wrongs,  though  well 
aware  that  she  is  already  as  familiar  with 
it  as  himself.  In  his  appeal  for  her  interces- 
sion, we  catch  a  glimpse  of  that  marvellous 
childhood  in  the  royal  halls  of  Thessaly,  and 
yet  beyond  we  hear  also  the  murmur  of 
strange  discord  in  the  divine  world,  which 
could  hardly  have  come,  save  through  her 
lips,  even  to  the  ears  of  the  inspired  bard. 


88       AKT    AND    nU3IANITY    IX    HUMEK 

For  Achilles  recalls  to  his  mother  how  in 
childhood  he  had  heard  her  tell  that  she 
alone  had  once  saved  the  tottering  throne 
of  Zeus,  when  brother,  wife,  and  favourite 
daughter  conspired  against  him  and  would 
have  compassed  his  downfall.  Yet  even 
this  reminder  of  her  wondrous  power  is 
offered  only  as  a  reason  why  she  may  well 
intercede  at  Zeus'  knees  for  justice  to  her 
child.  The  tears  of  mother  and  son  are 
for  a  moment  commingled,  and  she  bitterly 
bewails  the  day  when  she  bore  him  to  brief 
life  and  a  grievous  doom.  It  was  in  truth 
utterly  against  her  own  will,  doubtless 
through  actual  guile  and  force  combined, 
that  this  free  daughter  of  the  billowy  sea 
had  submitted  to  a  mortal  husband.  Yet 
once  wedded,  and  a  mother,  she  tarried 
with  seeming  content  in  the  abode  of  the 
human  father  of  her  Achilles. 

It  may  be  well  to  assure  a  modern  reader 
of  Homer  that  Thetis  is  no  mere  elemental 
spirit,  like  the  Undines  of  our  northern 
world  of  myth,  who  acquire  a  soul  and 
hope  of  immortality  from  this  union  with 
man.     The  divinities  of  the  Greeks  are  like 


WOMANHOOD    IN    THE    ILIAD  89 

mankind  ;  in  fact,  early  poets  assure  us  that 
they  were  sprung  from  the  same  source. 
But  the  differences  are  wholly  in  the  favour 
of  the  divine  natures,  who  lack  nothing 
which  man  has  to  bestow. 

It  was  doubtless  only  the  bond  of  ma- 
ternal love  that  detained  Thetis  in  Peleus' 
home,  for,  now  that  Achilles  is  in  the 
Troad,  she  also  has  returned  to  Nereus' 
submarine  palace  in  this  quarter  of  the 
^gean,  to  be  ever  close  at  hand  in  her 
son's  time  of  need. 

At  the  earliest  possible  moment,  Thetis 
does  betake  herself  to  snowy  Olympos,  and 
obtains  from  Zeus  the  promise  of  just  ven- 
geance upon  Agamemnon.  Here  the  temp- 
tation lies  especially  near,  to  interpret  her 
as  the  mere  embodied  type  of  divine  mother- 
love  itself,  traversing  sea,  earth,  and  heaven 
in  her  devotion,  and  interceding  at  the 
very  Throne  of  Grace  for  suffering,  wronged 
humanity.  But  such  a  fancy  is  no  doubt 
foreign  to  the  intention  of  the  poet,  for 
whom  Thetis  is  as  real  a  person  as  any 
actor  in  the  tale. 

Wherever    she  reappears,  it  is  because 


90       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

the  same  chord  of  maternal  affection  is 
struck.  Everywhere  we  see  the  silvery 
flash  of  her  tireless  feet,  the  tender  grace 
of  divine  motherhood,  the  sad  prescience 
of  mourning  soon  to  be.  The  most  learned 
critic  of  antiquity  erased  three  lines  from 
his  edition  of  the  poem,  because  they  laid 
upon  her  lips  a  sentiment  unworthy  of  the 
mother. 

Her  most  important  later  appearance  is 
when  she  comes  to  console  Achilles  for 
Patroclos'  death,  and  thence  departs  to 
Hephaistos'  abode  on  Olympos,  in  quest 
of  fresh  armour  to  replace  that  stripped 
by  Hector  from  Patroclos  slain.  It  is  with 
a  heavy  heart  that  she  thus  proceeds  to  equip 
her  hero  for  his  last  and  greatest  exploit, 
for  she  has  just  reminded  Achilles  :  — 

Shortlived  truly,  my  child,  thou'lt  be,  from 
the  words  thou  hast  uttered, 

Since  at  once  after  Hector  for  thee  too  death 
is  appointed. 

(II.  XVIII.  95,  96.) 

The  culminating  scene  of  Thetis'  life  as 
a  mother  does  not  come  within  the  limits 


WOMANHOOD    IX    THE    ILIAD  9 1 

of  our  subject,  for  Acliilles  is  yet  alive 
when  the  poem  closes.  This  very  fact, 
however,  may  serve  to  emphasize  what 
has  been  said  elsewhere,  that  the  pathetic 
characters  of  the  Iliad  exist  not  for  their 
own  sake,  but  purely  to  serve  the  require- 
ments of  the  epic  plot.  From  a  special 
study  like  the  present  essay  it  is  peculiarly 
desirable  to  return  to  a  thoughtful  perusal 
of  the  poem  as  a  whole.  And  the  last 
phrase  is  chosen  advisedly.  There  is  no 
more  imperative  duty  for  the  teacher  of 
literature,  than  to  encourage  the  study  of 
the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey,  and  indeed  of  all 
other  great  poems,  as  wholes :  as  the  mas- 
terpieces of  ideal  artists,  appealing,  like  a 
Madonna  Sistina  or  a  heaven-piercing  Gothic 
spire,  to  the  noblest  of  human  faculties,  — 
the  imagination. 


Ill 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD 

TJECTOR  is  killed  at  the  end  of  the  fourth 
-■-*-  day  of  actual  fighting,  the  twenty- 
seventh  since  the  action  of  the  epic  began. 
Neither  side  resumes  the  struggle,  within 
the  limits  of  the  Iliad.  The  following  day 
is  spent  by  the  Greeks  in  cremating  Patro- 
clos'  body,  together  with  captive  Trojans, 
animals,  and  various  treasures.  Still  another 
day  is  devoted  to  the  erection  of  a  huge 
barrow  over  the  pyre,  and  to  funeral  games 
celebrated  about  it,  in  honour  of  Achilles' 
gentle  friend.  At  this  point  the  twentj"-- 
third  book  closes,  and  the  final  rhapsody 
begins. 

The  author  of  Iliad  XXIV.,  whether  we 

call  him   Homer  or  not,   was  certainly  a 

masterful  artist,  who  composed  this  book 

for  the  important  place  it  now  occupies,  at 

92 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       93 

the  close  of  the  great  epic.  No  other  part 
of  the  work  has  so  deep  a  pathos,  so  noble 
an  ethical  tone,  or  a  more  elaborate  struct- 
ure. No  portion  will  better  repay  a  thought- 
ful study  of  detail.  The  book  is,  however, 
more  than  eight  hundred  lines  in  length. 
Within  our  limits  we  can  at  best  only  note 
the  chief  features,  in  a  rapid  outline. 

It  is  easy  to  illustrate  from  almost  any 
scene,  in  this  most  ancient  of  European 
epics,  how  entirely  every  great  poet  must 
rely  for  his  strongest  effects  upon  motives 
which  are  essentially  human  and  universal. 
We  may  repeat,  of  Priam's  lament  for  his 
sons,  what  Longfellow  sings  of  David  in  his 
bereavement :  — 

"There  is  no  far  nor  near, 
There  is  neither  there  nor  here, 
There  is  neither  soon  nor  late, 
In  that  Chamber  over  the  Gate, 
Nor  any  long  ago 
To  that  cry  of  human  woe, 
0  Absalom,  my  son  !  " 

The  book  begins  with  an  allusion  to  the 
athletic  contests  by  Patroclos'  mound, 
which  are   just  completed.     This  passage 


94       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN   HOMER 

may  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  dramatic 
prologue,  outlining  the  situation  at  which 
the  action  begins. 

The    games  were    done.      The    folk    to 

their  swift  ships 
Dispersing  went.      Of   supper    and  sweet 

sleep 
They   thought,   to   be    enjoyed.      Achilles 

wept, 
Kemembering  his  dear  comrade.     Nor  did 

sleep, 
The  all-conquering,  hold  him.     To  and  fro 

he  tossed. 
Missing  Patroclos'  bloom  and  glorious  might. 
What  toils  he  had  wrought  with  him,  and 

woes  endured. 
Cleaving  the   wars   of  men,  and  grievous 

waves,  — 
These  he  recalled,  and  dropped  a  swelling 

tear. 
Sometimes  upon  his  side,  then  on  his  back. 
He  lay,  or  face  ;  again  he  rose  erect, 
And  madly  whirled  along  the  beach.     The 

Dawn 
Escaped  him  not,  that  shone  on  sea  and 

shore. 
When  he  had  yoked  his  swift  steeds  to  the 

car. 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       95 

Hector  he  bound  to  drag  behind  the  team, 
And  drew  him  thrice  round  dead  Patroclos' 

mound, 
Then  rested  in  his  hut ;  but  left  the  foe 
Prone  in  the  dust  outstretched.    Yet  from 

his  form 
Apollo  kept  all  harm,  pitying  the  man. 
Though  dead,  and  screened  him  wholly  with 

his  shield 
Of  gold,  lest  he  who  dragged  should  tear 

his  flesh. 

(II.  XXIV.  1-21.) 

We  must  endeavour  to  have  a  clear  picture 
of  the  scene.  The  Trojans,  shut  within  the 
beleaguered  walls,  look  forward,  from  day 
to  day,  in  hopeless  suspense,  to  the  doom 
which  Hector's  fall  has  made  inevitable. 
The  Greeks,  equally  inactive,  await  in  their 
camp  the  hour  when  Achilles  shall  put  off 
his  grief  and  lead  them  to  victory.  And 
Achilles  himself,  like  a  lioness  bereft  of 
her  young,  lies  brooding  in  the  empty  lair, 
insults  from  day  to  day  the  unconscious 
body  of  his  enemy, — and  forgets  the  call 
of  valour.  After  this  outrage  had  been 
repeated  for  twelve  successive  days,  the 
gods  become  angry,   and  debate  if    they 


96   ART  AND  HUMANITY  IN  HOMER 

shall  send  down  the  divine  messenger, 
Hermes,  to  steal  the  body  away.  Instead 
of  this,  Iris  is  finally  despatched  to  summon 
Achilles'  mother,  the  sea-nymph  Thetis,  to 
the  heavenly  council.  The  gentle  goddess 
of  the  rainbow  instantly  darts  earthward, 
and  plunges  into  the  dark  waters  of  the 
^gean,  beneath  which  is  the  abode  of 
Thetis'  father,  Nereus,  the  old  man  of  the 
sea.     The  poet  continues  :  — 

And  Thetis  in  the  hollow  cave  she  found, 
Where  all  the  other  sea  divinities 
Were  gathered  round  her  ;  and  among  them 

she 
Bewailed  the  fate  of  her  illustrious  son, 
Whose  doom  it  was  in  fertile  Troy  to  die, 
Far  from  the  fatherland.     Then,  standing 

near. 
Iris  of  nimble  feet  addressed  her  thus  : 
' '  Thetis,  arise  ;  for  Zeus,  whose  councils  are 
Immortal,  summons  thee." 

The  goddess  then. 
The  silver-footed  Thetis,  answered  her:  — 
"^Yhy  hath  that  mighty  god  commanded 

me? 
I  shrink  from  mingling  with  the  immortals, 

since 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       97 

Unnumbered  sorrows  in  my  heart  have  I, 
Yet  will  I  go.  Not  vain  the  word  shall  be 
Which  he  may  utter. "  When  she  had  spoken 

thus, 
The  mighty  goddess  took  a  dusky  robe, 
Than  which  no  darker  raiment  she  might 

find, 
And  went.     The  swift,  wind-footed  Iris  led. 
And  the  sea's  wave  was  round  about  them 

cleft.  {Ihid.  83-96.) 

The  black  robe  is  of  course,  as  with  us, 
the  emblem  of  mourning;  in  this  case  as 
much  for  Achilles  as  for  Patroclos.  It  is, 
in  fact,  one  of  the  frequent  reminders  of  the 
tragic  scenes  which  lie  in  part  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  poem  itself. 

Reaching  the  shore  they  darted  to  the  sky. 
And  found  wide-seeing  Zeus ;  and  all  the  rest, 
Blessed  immortal  gods,  assembled  sate. 
Then  Thetis  took  her  seat  by  father  Zeus, 
—  Pallas  made  way  for  her,  —  and  Hera  put 
A  lovely  golden  cup  into  her  hand. 
Comforting  her  with  words.     Then  Thetis 

drank. 
And  gave  the  cup  again ;  and  unto  them 
The  sire  of  gods  and  men  began  to  speak. 
{Ihid.  97-103.) 


98   ART  AND  HUMANITY  IN  HOMER 

This  passage  tempts  us  aside  to  a  some- 
what elaborate  comparison.  This  book  is 
beyond  question  the  artistic  cuhnination  of 
the  epic.  So  the  Panathenaic  frieze  is  the 
chief  glory  of  the  Parthenon,  and  unrivalled 
among  extant  reliefs,  at  least.  This  open- 
ing scene  in  the  Olympian  council-hall,  then, 
may,  not  unnaturally,  be  set  beside  the 
figures  of  the  twelve  great  gods  upon  the 
temple's  eastern  front.  Now,  if  in  the 
frieze  the  central  group  about  the  priest 
—  which  should  doubtless  be  regarded  as 
ideally  upon  a  different  level  —  be  elimi- 
nated, Zeus  and  Hera  from  the  one  side, 
Pallas  Athene  from  the  other,  are  brought 
close  together,  A  corner  of  the  Zeus-block 
was  long  missing.  The  complete  excava- 
tions of  recent  years  upon  the  Acropolis 
brought  to  light  few  things  more  interesting 
than  the  little  triangular  fragment.  In  the 
winged  figure  upon  it.  Dr.  Charles  Waldstein 
at  once  recognized  Iris  ;  so  no  figure  of  our 
Homeric  group  is  now  missing  from  the 
relief,  except,  of  course,  the  rare  guest, 
Thetis,  Zeus'  bidding  is  that  Thetis  go 
straightway  to  her  son,  and  inform  him  of 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       99 

the  gods'  command.  He  must  accept  a  ran- 
som, and  give  up  Hector's  body.  Thetis 
immediately 

Went  darting  from  Olympos'  summit  down 

to  carry  this  message.  To  Achilles  she 
says,  after  a  few  consolatory  words :  — 

"  Hearken  at  once  to  me.    A  messenger 
Of  Zeus  to  thee  am  I.     He  says  the  gods 
Are  wroth,  and  he  himself  enraged  at  thee 
Beyond  the  immortals  all,  since  with  mad 

heart 
Thou  keepest  Hector  by  the  curving  ships. 
And  hast  not  given  him  back.     But  do  thou 

now 
Release   him.      Take  the  ransom   for  the 

dead." 
Achilles,  fleet  of  foot,  thus  answered  her : 
"  So  be  it.     Whoso  brings  the  ransom,  he 
May  take  the  body,  since  with  earnest  mind 
The  Olympian  hath  himself  commanded  it." 
(/6iU  133-140.) 

Meanwhile,  Iris  is  again  sent  down  by  Zeus, 
this  time  to  the  venerable  King  Priam,  who 
is  bidden  to  go  to  Achilles  under  cover  of 
the  night,  carrying  precious  gifts,  and  ac- 


100      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

companied  only  by  one  aged  herald.  He  is 
assured  of  a  safe  return  under  the  protec- 
tion of  Hermes. 

It  was  remarked  by  the  ancients  that  Iris 
was  regularly  employed  as  messenger  in  the 
Iliad,  Hermes  in  the  Odyssey.  The  appear- 
ance of  the  god  in  the  last  episode  of  the 
poem  is,  therefore,  sometimes  counted  as 
one  of  many  indications  pointing  to  a  some- 
what later  origin.  But  in  truth  both  Iris 
and  Hermes,  as  well  as  Thetis,  are  here  busy 
as  couriers,  and,  indeed,  all  the  divine  forces 
are  exerted  to  bring  about  the  culminating 
scene  of  the  great  drama.  Omitting  the 
speech  of  Iris  to  Priam,  we  continue :  — 

Fleet-footed  Iris,  speaking  thus,  was  gone. 
But  he  descended  to  his  vaulted  room. 
High-roofed,  of  cedar,  that  much  treasure 

held. 
Hecab6,  too,  his  wife,  he  called,  and  said : 
"  Dame,  an  Olympian  messenger  is  come 
To  me,  and  bade  me  ransom  my  dear  son. 
Seeking  the  Achaians'  ships,  and  thither 

bring 
Gifts  for  Achilles  which  shall  melt  his  heart. 
Come,  tell  me  how  it  seems  unto  thy  mind ; 
For  mightily  my  own  desire  and  heart 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       lOI 

Are  urging  me  to  go  to  yonder  ships, 
Witliin  the  Achaians'  wide-extended  camp." 
So  Priam  spoke.    His  wife  bemoaned,  and 

said : 
"  Ah  me  !     Where  now  is  fled  thy  sense,  for 

whicli 
Thou  wert  renowned  to  strangers,  and  among 
The  folk  thou  rulest !    How  canst  thou  desire 
To  fare  alone  unto  the  Achaians'  ships, 
Before  the  face  of  him  who  has  despoiled 
Thy  many  valiant  sons  ?    Thy  heart  is  hard 
As  iron  !     For  if  he  have  thee  in  his  power, 
And  see  thee  with  his  eyes,  that  savage  man 
And  faithless,  he  will  have  no  reverence 
Nor  pity  for  thee.    Nay,  let  us  now  sit 
Here  in  our  halls  afar,  and  mourn.    For  him 
Even  thus  the  mighty  Fate  did  spin  her 

thread. 
When  he  was  born  of  me,  that  he  should  sate 
The  hounds  fleet-footed,  far  away  from  us 
His  parents,  in  that  forceful  hero's  power 
Whose  heart's  core  I  could  seize  on  and 

devour ! 
Thus  for  my  son  a  deed  of  recompense 
Were  wrought !     He  slew  him,  who  had 

wronged  him  not. 
But  only  stood  forth  to  defend  the  men 
Of  Troy  and  the  deep-bosomed  Trojan  dames. 
Nor  ever  thought  of  terror  and  of  flight." 

{Ihid.  188-216.) 


102       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

This  last  line  is  a  curious  and  interesting 
one.  Hecab6  (or  can  it  be  even  her  poet?) 
knows  nothing  of  that  dishonourable  flight 
of  Hector  thrice  about  the  circle  of  the  city's 
wall,  against  which  Andrew  Lang  protests, 
as  a  calumny  of  Homer,  in  his  beautiful 
poem,  Helen  of  Troy. 

Then  ag^d,  godlike  Priam  answered  her : 
"  Do  not  detain  me  when  I  long  to  go, 
And  do  not  be  for  me  in  our  own  halls 
An  evil  omen.    Thou  wilt  not  dissuade  me. 
If  any  other  one  of  men  on  earth, 
Of  seers  who  watch  the  offerings,  or  of  priests, 
Had  bidden  me,  we  would  have  accounted  it 
A  lie,  and  rather  would  have  held  aloof. 
But  now  —  for  I  heard  the  god  myself,  and 

gazed 
Into  her  face  —  I  go,  nor  vain  shall  be 
The  word.     But  if  it  be  my  destiny 
By  the  bronze-mailed  Achaians'  ships  to  die, 
I  am  willing.     Let  Achilles  slay  me  at  once. 
Clasping  within  these  arms  my  son,  when  I 
Have  sated  my  desire  for  grief." 

He  spoke. 
And  from  the  chests  took  off  the  shapely  lids. 
Then   he   chose   forth  twelve  very  lovely 
shawls. 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       IO3 

Twelve  single  cloaks  thereto,  as  many  rugs, 
So  many  robes,  and  just  as  many  doublets ; 
Two  tripods  brightly   gleaming,  and   four 

caldrons ; 
A  very  lovely  cup  besides,  which  men 
Of  Thrace  had  given  him,  when  he  had  come 

upon 
An  embassy,  —  a  precious  thing :  nor  yet 
Did  the  old  man  grudge  from  his  halls  e'en 

this. 
But  in  his  heart  exceedingly  desired 
To  ransom  his  dear  son. 

{Ibid.  217-237.) 

Priam,  who  seems  half  crazed  with  grief 
and  excitement,  bursts  forth  into  bitter 
reproaches  against  the  Trojans  who  are 
gathered  under  the  gateway  of  his  house, 
and,  calling  angrily  by  name  upon  nine  of 
his  surviving  sons,  bids  them  harness  mules 
to  the  wagon  which  shall  bear  these  treas- 
ures toward  the  hostile  camp  on  the  shore. 
This  they  do,  and  also  attach  Priam's  horses 
to  his  own  chariot.  This  has  all  occurred 
in  the  courtyard  within  the  royal  palace. 

But  Hecab^  with  troubled  soul  drew  nigh, 
Holding  the  wine,  like  honey  to  the  heart, 


104       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

In  her  right  hand,  within  a  golden  bowl, 
That  they  might  pour  libation  ere  they  went. 
{Ibid.  283-285.) 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Hecabe  ap- 
pears in  a  very  similar  manner,  with  wine 
in  her  hand,  when  she  comes  to  meet  Hector 
in  the  sixth  book.  This  repetition  of  the 
same  motif  has  sometimes  been  regarded  as 
a  clear  case  of  imitation,  betraying  a  new 
and  younger  hand. 

Standing  before  the  steeds,  she  spoke,  and 
said  : 
"So  do  thou  pour  to  father  Zeus,  and  pray 
That  thou  shalt  from  the  foemen  home  re- 
turn, 
Since  thine  own  spirit  urges  thee  indeed 
Unto  the  ships,  —  though  I  desire  it  not ! 
But  do  thou  pray  to  cloud- wrapped  Kronos' 

son. 
Dwelling  on  Ida,  who  looks  down  on  all 
The  Trojan  land,  and  ask  an  ominotis  bird. 
His  speedy  messenger,  which  is  most  dear 
Of  birds  to  him,  and  mightiest  in  strength. 
Appearing  on  the  right :  so  thou  thyself. 
Seeing  it  with  thine  eyes,  trustful  therein 
Mayst  fare  unto  the  fleet-horsed  Danaans' 
ships. 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       I05 

But  if  wide-seeing  Zeus  give  not  to  thee 
His  messenger,  I  would  not  urge  thee  on, 
Nor  to  tlie  Argives'  vessels  bid  thee  go, 
Exceedingly  impetuous  as  thou  art." 
And  answering  her,  the  godlike  Priam  said : 
"  O  wife,  I  will  not  disobey  thee  when 
Thou  urgest  me  to  this  ;  for  it  is  well 
To  lift  our  hands  to  Zeus,  if  he  perchance 
Will  pity  us."     Thus  the  old  man  spoke, 

and  bade 
A  housemaid  pour  clear  water  on  his  hands. 
She  stood  beside  him,  holding  in  her  hands 
A  bowl  and  pitcher;    then  when  he  had 

cleansed 
His  hands,  he  from  his  wife  received  the  cup. 
Then  taking  in  the  courtyard's  midst  his 

stand 
(here  was  the  great  altar  of  Zeus,  and  on 
this  very  spot,  not  many  days  later,  the 
venerable  king  was  to  meet  his  death, 
before  the  eyes  of  his  wife  and  daughters, 
on  the  night  when  Troy  was  taken). 

He  prayed,  and  poured  the  wine,  looking 

meanwhile 
Into  the  sky,  and  thus  he  spoke  aloud : 
"  O  father  Zeus,  from  Ida  holding  sway, 
Most  glorious   and   most  mighty,  do  thou 

grant 


I06      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

That  I  unto  Achilles'  dwelling  come 
Welcomed  and  pitied  ;  and  send  thou  a  bird 
Of  omen,  thy  swift  messenger,  which  is 
Most  dear  of  birds  to  thee,  and  mightiest 
In  strength,  upon  the  right,  that  I  myself, 
Beholding  him,  may  go,  trustful  therein, 
Unto  the  vessels  of  the  swift-horsed  Greeks." 
{Ibid.  286-313.) 

A  black  eagle  instantly  appears  in  the 
sky,  on  the  right,  flying  over  the  city. 
Then  the  two  old  men  start  forth  confi- 
dently and  in  eager  haste  ;  the  herald  driv- 
ing the  mule-team,  and  Priam  following 
upon  his  chariot.  The  royal  kinsfolk  and 
other  Trojans  escort  them,  lamenting,  but 
turn  back  at  the  gates. 

But  not  unmarked  by  far-beholding  Zeus 
They  on  the  plain  appeared.     And  when  he 

saw 
The  ag^d  man,  he  pitied  him.    At  once 
To  Hermes,  his  beloved  son,  he  spoke : 
"  O  Hermes,  since  to  thee  it  is  most  dear 
To  be  man's  comrade,  and  thou  hearkenest 
To  whom  thou  wilt,  hie  thee  and  go  ;  conduct 
Priam  unto  the  Achaians'  hollow  ships. 
So  that  no  other  of  the  Danai 
Shall  see  or  notice  him,  until  he  comes 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       lOJ 

To  Peleus'  son."     He  spoke.    The  Argus- 
slayer, 
The  messenger,  obeyed :    and  straightway 

then 
Under  his  feet  the  lovely  sandals  bound. 
Ambrosial,  golden,  which  upon  the  sea 
Bear  him,  and  over  boundless  earth,  as  swift 
As  gusts  of  wind.     He  took  his  wand,  where- 
with 
The  eyes  of  men  he  entrances,  whom  he  will, 
And  rouses  others  from  their  sleep  again : 
With  this  in  hand  flew   the   stout  Argus- 
slayer. 
Troy  and  the  Hellespont  he  quickly  reached. 
{Ibid.  331-316.) 

Under  the  guise  of  a  goodly  mortal  youth, 
Hermes  presents  himself  to  the  two  fright- 
ened old  men,  just  at  dusk,  when  they  have 
reached  the  river,  on  their  way  to  the  shore, 
and  offers  to  guide  them.  He  pretends  to 
be  an  esquire  of  Achilles.  He  assures  Priam 
that  Hector's  body  lies  uncorrupted  and 
unsoiled,  and  that  his  many  wounds  have 
miraculously  closed.  Priam,  to  secure  the 
youth's  faithful  guidance,  offers  him  the 
precious  cup  which  was  intended  for  Achil- 
les.    But  the  god  replies :  — 


Io8      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

"  Old  sir,  thou'rt  tempting  me,  a  younger 

man, 
But  wilt  not  win  me, — thou  who  biddest  me, 
Without  Achilles'  knowledge,  take  thy  gift. 
I  stand  in  fear  of  him,  and  dread  in  heart 
To  rob  him,  lest  hereafter  woe  befall 
To  me.    But  as  thy  escort  I  would  go 
E'en  to  famed  Argos,  fitly  guiding  thee, 
By  land,  or  vessel  swift.     No  one,  forsooth. 
Disdainful  of  thy  guide,  would  strive  with 

thee."  (/62d.  433-439.) 

The  god  seems  to  give  us  a  glimpse  of  his 
divine  nature,  as  he  proudly  assures  the 
timid  king  that  under  his  guidance  he  might 
pass  unmolested,  not  merely  to  the  hostile 
camp  on  the  shore,  but  even  far  into  the 
native  land  of  his  foes.  A  god  is  rarely 
able  to  conceal  his  divinity  altogether. 

Thus  speaking,  Hermes   on   the   chariot 

leaped. 
And  quickly  grasped  the  scourge  and  reins 

in  hand. 
Into  the  horses  and  the  mules  he  breathed 
Glorious  force.    But  when  they  now  were 

come 
To  the  intrenchments  of  the  ships,  and  moat, 
The  guards  were  just  employed  about  their 

meal. 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       lOQ 

Upon  them  all  the  herald,  the  Argus-slayer, 
Poured  sleep,    and  pushed  the  bar,  and, 

opening 
The  gates,  led  in  the  old  man,  and  splendid 

gifts 
Upon  the  car.  {Ihid.  440-447.) 

The  divine  intervention  is,  it  will  be 
noticed,  essential  to  Priam's  success.  Such 
passages  as  this  are  very  different  from 
those  where  Pallas  appears  to  Achilles,  or 
Aphrodite  to  Helen,  remaining  invisible  to 
all  others.  In  those  scenes  the  divinities 
are  perhaps  little  more  than  poetic  figures 
for  the  voice  of  wisdom  or  of  passion  in  the 
human  heart  itself.  Here,  on  the  contrary, 
Hermes  is  as  real  to  the  poet,  and  to  his 
hearers,  as  the  old  king  himself. 

But  now  when  they  were  come 
Unto  Pelides'  lofty  cabin,  which 
The  Myrmidons  had  builded  for  their  lord  : 
Hewing  the  beams  of  fir  ;  and  overhead 
They  thatched  it,  mowing  in  the  meadow 

land 
The  downy  rush  ;   and  round   about  they 

made 
A  spacious  court j'ard  for  their  lord,  with 

stakes 


no   ART  AND  HUMANITY  IX  HOMER 

Close  set.     The  gate  a  single  bar  held  fast, 
Of  pine,  which  three  Achaians  pushed  in 

place, 
And  three  would   open  the    great  bolted 

gate, 
Of  other  men  :  Achilles  even  alone 
Would  push  it  home. 

{Ibid.  448-456.) 

The  poet  has  forgotten  Priam,  for  the 
moment,  over  his  description  of  Achilles' 
abode.  (Such  comparisons  as  this  between 
the  physical  strength  of  the  chieftains  and 
of  common  men  are  very  frequent  in  Homer. 
The  reader  will  remember,  for  instance, 
how  Hector,  assaulting  the  Greek  lines, 
poises  and  casts  with  ease  a  stone  which, 
as  the  poet  says. 

Three  men  could  hardly  heave  into  a  wain, 
Such  as  are  now  alive. 

The  most  curious  example,  however,  is  the 
venerable  Nestor  and  his  mighty  punch- 
bowl: 

Scarce  could  another  from  the  table  raise 
The  bowl,  when  full ;  but  Nestor,  although 

old. 
Easily  lifted  it. 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       111 

Another    passage    for    Horace  —  and    for 
Holmes  !) 

Hermes,  the  Helper,  then,  for  the  old  man 
Opened  the  gate,  and  led  the  splendid  gifts 
For  fleet  Achilles  in  ;  then  to  the  earth 
Descended  from  the  chariot,  and  said  : 
"  0  ag6d  man,  I,  an  undying  god, 
Hermes,  am  come.    My  father  bade  me  be 
Thy  guide.    But  now  will  I  depart  again, 
Nor  meet  Achilles'  eyes.     'Twere  cause  for 

wrath 
If  an  immortal  god  so  openly 
Should  show  his   friendliness  for  human 

kind. 
But  go  thou  in,  and  clasp  Achilles'  knees." 
Thus  speaking,  Hermes  was  already  gone 
To  broad  Olympos.     From  his  chariot 
Priam  leaped  down  to  earth  ;  and  there  he 

left 
Idaios,  who  remained  to  hold  the  mules 
And  steeds.     Straight  toward  the  house  the 

old  man  went, 
Where,  dear  to  Zeus,  Achilles  had  his  home. 
He  found  him  there  within.     Apart  from 

him 
His  comrades  had  their  places.    Only  two, 
Heroic  Automedon,  and  Alkimos 
Of  Ares'  stock,  were  busy  in  his  presence. 


112      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Achilles  was  just  ceasing  from  his  meal, 
From  drink  and  food.     The  table  stood  by 

him. 
Great  Priam  entered  in  unmarked  by  them, 
And  close  beside  Achilles  took  his  place. 
Clasped  with  both   hands  his  knees,   and 

kissed 
Those  awful  murderous  hands,  which  had 

destroyed 
His  many  sons. 

As  when  a  mighty  curse 
Befalleth  one  who  in  his  fatherland 
Hath  slain  a  man,  and  to  another  folk 
He  comes,  unto  some  wealthy  man's  abode, 
And  wonder  seizes  those  w^ho  look  on  him, 
So  did  Achilles  marvel,  as  he  saw 
The  godlike  Priam  ;  and  the  others  too 
In  their  amazement  gazed  at  one  another. 
Then  Priam  prayerfully  addressed  him  thus  : 
"  Remember,  O  Achilles,  like  the  gods. 
Thy  father,  even  of  such  years  as  I, 
Upon  the  fatal  threshold  of  old  age. 
Perchance  the   neighbours  vex  him  round 

about, 
And  there  is  no  one  to  avert  from  him 
Calamity  and  ruin.     But  yet  he, 
Hearing  thou  art  alive,  exults  in  heart, 
And  all  his  days  is  hopeful  he  shall  see 
His  well-loved  son  returning  home  from 

Troy. 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE   ILIAD      II3 

But  wholly  evil  is  my  fate,  who  had 

The  noblest  sous  in  wide  Troy-land,  and 

none 
Of  them,  I  tell  thee,  now  is  left  alive. 
Fifty  I  had  when  the  Achaiaus  came : 
Nineteen  were  from  one  womb  born  unto 

me, 
The  others  of  the  women  in  my  halls. 
Of  most,  impetuous  Ares  brake  the  knees." 

(Here,  as  often,  Ares  is  a  mere  vague  per- 
sonification of  war.) 

"Him  who  alone  remained,  and  kept  my 

town 
And  people,  thou  the  other  day  hast  slain. 
While  he  was  fighting  for  his  fatherland : 
Hector.      For  his  sake  to  the  Achaians' 

ships 
I  came,  to  buy  him  back  from  thee,  and 

bring 
A  priceless  ransom.     But  do  thou  revere 
The  gods,  Achilles,  and  have  pity  on  me, 
Remembering  thine  own  father.     Yet  am  I 
More  piteous,  and  have  borne  what  no  one 

else 
Of  men  on  eartb  has  done, — to  lift  the  hand 
Of  him  who  slew  my  son  unto  my  lips." 

So  spoke  he ;  and  he  roused  indeed  in  him 
Desire  of  weeping  for  his  father.    Then 


114      -^RT    AND    HUMAXITY   IN   HOMER 

Grasping  him  by  the  hand,  he  gently  pushed 
The  old  man  from  him  ;  and  they  both  be- 
wailed 
Unceasingly  :  the  one  remembering 
Hector,  the  slayer  of  men,  the  while  he  lay 
Before  Achilles'  feet ;  but  for  his  sire 
Achilles  wept,  and  for  Patroclos  too 
At  times ;  and  in  the  house  their  moan  went 

up. 
But  when  divine  Achilles  had  his  fill 
Of  wailing,  straightway  from  his  chair  he 

rose. 
And  lifted  by  the  hand  the  ag6d  man, 
Pitying  his  hoary  head  and  hoary  beard. 
Addressing  him,  he  uttered  winged  words : 
"Ah,  wretched  one,  thou  hast  indeed  endured 
Full  many  woes  in  heart.     How  didst  thou 

dare 
To  come  to  the  Achaians'  ships,  alone. 
Into  my  presence, — mine,  who  have  de- 
spoiled 
Thy  many  noble  sons  ?     Thy  soul  is  hard 
As  iron.     But,  come  sit  upon  a  chair, 
And  we  will  truly  let  our  sorrows  lie 
Quiet  within  our  hearts,  grieved  though  we 

be; 
For  in  chill  mourning  there  is  no  avail, 
Since  so  the  gods  have  spun  for  wretched 

men. 
To  live  in  sorrow.    They  are  free  from  care ! 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD        II5 

For  at  the  door  of  Zeus  two  jars  are  set, 
One  filled  with  evil  gifts,  and  one  again 
With  blessings  ;  and  to  whomsoever  Zeus, 
Hurler  of  lightning,  intermingling  gives, 
He  chances  now  on  evil,  now  on  good ; 
But  him  to  whom  he  gives  but  ills  he  makes 
A  byword  !     Wretched  famine  urges  him 
Over  the  holy  earth.     He  wanders  forth, 
Unhonoured  of  the  gods  or  mortal  men." 

(/6«cZ.  457-533.) 

No  man,  it  seems,  has  unmixed  happi- 
ness :  but  some  have  none  ! 

It  was  for  such  passages  as  this  that  Plato 
was  unwilling  to  admit  Homer  into  his  re- 
public. It  would  perhaps  hardly  be  just 
to  ascribe  these  sentiments  to  the  poet  him- 
self. All  Achilles'  joy  in  life,  all  his  faith 
in  the  fairness  or  the  kindness  of  the  gods, 
perished  with  Patroclos.  It  has  been,  how- 
ever, very  truly  remarked  (by  Professor 
Thomas  Davidson)  that  in  the  closing  books 
of  the  Iliad,  as  a  whole,  we  find  little  trace 
of  that  delight  in  life  which  we  are  wont  to 
regard  as  a  peculiarly  Greek  feeling. 

' '  So  the  gods  gave  to  Peleus  glorious  gifts 
At  birth, — for  he  to  all  mankind  was  famed 


Il6      ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

For  bliss  and  wealth,  and  ruled  the  Myr- 
midons. 
A  goddess,  too,  they  made  his  wife,  though 

he 
Was  mortal.    Yet  the  god  sent  woe  on  him ; 
For  in  his  halls  no  race  of  mighty  sons 
Arose  ;  one  all-untimely  child  had  he. 
And  I  protect  him  not  as  he  grows  old : 
Since  far  from  home,  I  tarry  in  the  Troad, 
Vexing  thee  and  thy  children.    And  of  thee 
'Tis  said,  old   sir,   that  thou  wert  happy 

once. 
Of  all  the  land  which  Lesbos,  Makar's  home, 
Doth  bound,  and  Phrygia,  and  vast  Helles- 
pont, 
Of  all  these  folk,  'tis  said,  thou  wert  supreme, 
0  ag6d  man,  in  wealth  and  tale  of  sons. 
But  since  the  heaven-dwellers  on  thee  sent 
This  sorrow,  ever  round  thy  town  is  strife 
And  slaying  of  men. 

Endure,  and  do  not  grieve 
Unceasingly  in  spirit.     Naught  by  grief 
Wilt  thou  accomplish  for  thy  gallant  son  ; 
Thou  mayst  not  raise  him  up  to  life  again ; 
Nay,  sooner  wilt  thou  suffer  other  ills." 

{Ihid.  534-551.) 

The  last  line  is  perhaps  a  warning  that 
Achilles  feels  rising  within  himself  an  un- 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD        II 7 

reasoning  rage,  in  response  to  this  wild 
passion  of  gi'ief  over  his  fallen  enemy,  Hec- 
tor. If  such  is  his  meaning,  Priam  does 
not  realize  it. 

Then  ag6d,  godlike  Priam  answered  him: 
"Bid  me  not  yet  to  sit  upon  a  chair, 
Thou  child  of  Zeus,  while  Hector  in  thy 

house 
Uncared-for  lies.    But  give  him  up  at  once, 
That  I  may  see  him,  and  accept  the  price." 
{Ihid.  552-555.) 

But  the  fierce  and  haughty  spirit  of 
Achilles  is  aroused  at  this  urgent  appeal 
for  immediate  action.  We  must  not  allow 
ourselves  to  imagine  that  Homer's  men  are 
medifeval  knights  or  Elizabethan  gentle- 
men, by  any  means.  There  is  much  of  the 
savage  in  them  still.  But  Achilles,  at  any 
rate,  realizes  the  danger,  —  and  also  the 
wickedness  of  any  harm  done  to  his  sup- 
pliant guest. 

Then  swift  Achilles  with   fierce   glance 

replied : 
"  Chafe  me  no  more,  old  sir ;  I  do  myself 
Intend  to  give  thee  Hector  back.      From 

Zeus 


Il8       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

As  messenger  to  me  my  mother  came, 
The  daughter  of  the  Ancient  of  the  sea. 
And  as  for  thee,  0  Priam,  well  I  know 
In  heart,  and  it  escapes  me  not,  some  god 
Guided  thee  to  the  Achaians'  speedy  ships  ; 
For  never  mortal  man  would  dare  to  come, 
Though  youthful,  to  our  camp,  nor  could 

he  elude 
The  guards,  nor  easily  push  back  the  bolts 
Upon  our  gates.     So  do  thou  rouse  no  more, 
O  ag^d  man,  mine  anger  in  my  grief. 
Lest  I  may  leave  thee  not  unharmed,  even 

here 
Within  my  cabin,  suppliant  as  thou  art, 
But  may  transgress  against  the  will  of  Zeus." 
He  spoke  ;  the  aged  man  in  fear  obeyed. 
Pelides  like  a  lion  through  the  house 
Rushed  to  the  portal;  not  alone:  with  him 
Two  servants  went,  heroic  Automedon 
And  Alkimos,  whom  of  his  comrades  most 
Achilles  honoured,  save  Patroclos  dead. 
They  from  the  yoke  released  the  steeds  and 

mules, 
And  led  the  herald  of  the  old  king  in, 
And  bade  him  sit.     Then  from  the  shining 

cart 
They  took   the   priceless   ransom   for  the 

head 
Of  Hector.     But  two  robes  they  left,  and 

one 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD        II9 

Tunic  well-knit,  that  he  might  wrap  there- 
with 
The  dead,  and  give  him  to  be  carried  home. 
Calling  the  maids,  he  ordered  them  to  wash 
And  to  anoint  him,  taking  him  apart, 
That  Priam  miglit  not  look  upon  his  son. 
Lest  in  his  sorrowing  spirit  he  might  not 
Restrain  his  wrath  when  he  beheld  his  child ; 
And  so  Achilles'  heart  would  be  aroused, 
And  he  would  slay  him,  and  transgress  the 

will 
Of  Zeus.  (Ibid.  559-686.) 

When  the  body  has  been  prepared  for 
the  bier,  Achilles  himself  aids  in  laying  it 
upon  the  chariot.  Yet  his  reluctance  and 
misgivings  find  utterance  meanwhile  in  a 
prayer  to  his  dead  friend  :  — 

"  Patroclos,  be  not  wToth, 
Even  in  Hades,  that  I  have  released 
The  mighty  Hector  for  his  loving  father. 
For  no  unworthy  ransom  did  he  give, 
And  with  thee  I  will  share  it,  as  is  right." 
(Ibid.  592-595.) 

It  is  interesting  to  remember  that  until 
Patroclos  appeared  to  his  friend  in  a  vision 
after  death  Achilles  had  hardly  believed  in 
any  continued  existence  beyond  the  tomb. 


120       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Indeed,  it  is  hard  to  resist  the  feeling  that 
the  hero  was  at  times,  even  to  the  Homeric 
poets,  as  he  certainly  became  to  the  later 
Greeks,  an  ideal  type  of  the  short-lived 
youth  of  man,  clinging  to  life,  shuddering 
at  the  very  thought  of  death.  Strikingly 
characteristic  still  is  the  apparition  of  his 
shade  in  Hades,  described  in  the  Odyssey 
among  the  adventures  of  Odysseus.  Even 
there  he  resents  fiercely  the  attempt  to 
soften  the  wretchedness  of  life  in  the  land 
of  shades,  and  finds  his  only  consolation  in 
the  thought  that  his  son  is  a  gallant  warrior 
still,  up  there  in  the  sunshine. 

Achilles,  returning  into  the  cabin,  takes 
his  place,  facing  Priam,  against  the  op- 
posite wall  ;  perhaps  at  a  safe  distance 
from  his  guest.  He  addresses  the  unhappy 
monarch :  — 

"  Thy  son  is  freed,  old  man,  as  tbou  hast 
bid, 
And  lies  upon  the  bier.     At  dawn  shalt  thou 
Behold  and  bear  him  hence.     But  now  let  us 
Take  thought  of  supper.     Even  Niobe 
Of  the  fair  hair  took  thought  for  food." 

(^Ihid.  599-602.) 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD        121 

The  tale  of  the  unfortunate  daughter  of 
Tantalus,  which  is  here  repeated  by  Achilles, 
need  not  be  transcribed.  More  interesting 
for  us  is  the  allusion  to  a  curious  rock 
formation  near  Magnesia,  in  Asia  Minor, 
which  has  been  known  for  countless  cen- 
turies as  the  weeping  Niobe  :  — 

"Now  on  the  lonely  mountains,  mid  the 
rocks 
On  Sipylos,  where,  so  'tis  said,  the  nymphs 
Have  their  abode,  who  dance  about  the  stream 
Of  Acheloion,  as  a  stone  she  stands, 
Enduring  sorrows  sent  her  by  the  gods." 

{Ibid.  614-617.) 

We  are  informed  that  these  lines  were 
rejected  by  the  greatest  Homeric  scholar 
among  the  ancients,  the  librarian  Aris- 
tarchos,  on  the  ground  that  they  were 
irrelevant.  This  very  fact,  however,  indi- 
cates that  they  are  at  least  very  ancient, 
if  not  originally  a  part  of  the  scene.  The 
figure  thus  alluded  to  is  a  sort  of  high-relief 
against  a  background  of  natural  rock.  The 
shape  is  thrice  the  human  height,  and  some 
two  hundred  feet  from  the  ground.  A 
trickling  spring  is  said  to  give  the  impression 


122       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

of  falling  tears.  "Whoever  composed  these 
lines  was  familiar  with  this  locality  of  Asia 
Minor,  and  hence  the  passage  has  been 
drawn  into  the  discussion  over  the  origin 
of  the  Homeric  poems.  Perhaps  it  has 
aided,  with  other  local  allusions,  to  give  to 
Smyrna  a  certain  pre-eminence  among 
Homer's  many  birthplaces. 

Achilles  now  kills  a  sheep,  the  meal  is 
prepared,  and  Priam  silently  partakes  of 
bread  and  meat,  doubtless  less  from  hunger 
than  from  dread  of  rousing  the  wrath  of 
his  terrible  host. 

When  they  had  sated  them  with  food  and 

drink, 
Dardanian  Priam  at  Achilles  gazed 
In  wonder,  seeing  him  so  tall  and  fair. 
Achilles,  too,  admired  Dardanian  Priam, 
Viewing  his  goodly  aspect,  giving  ear 
Unto  his  words.     But  when  they  had  looked 

their  fill 
At  one  another,  first  unto  his  host 
The  venerable,  godlike  Priam  spoke : 
"  Let  me  at  once,  O  child  of  Zeus,  lie  down, 
That  we  of  slumber  sweet  may  have  our  fill. 
And  rest.     Not  yet  mine  eyes  beneath  their 

lids 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD       1 23 

Have  closed,  since  at  thy  hands  my  son 

gave  up 
His  life,  but  evermore  I  groan  aloud, 
And  brood  on  my  innumerable  griefs, 
Rolling  in  filth  within  my  courtyard's  close. 
Now  truly  have  I  tasted  food,  and  let 
The  gleaming  wine  pass  down  my  throat. 

Before 
I  had  tasted  nothing."  {Ibid.  628-642.) 

The  great  strain  upon  the  old  king's  mind 
is  relieved,  at  least  in  part.  Though  he 
has  not  yet  seen  Hector's  body,  he  knows 
that  his  mission  is  to  be  successfully  accom- 
plished. So  exhausted  Nature  asserts  her- 
self. Doubtless,  as  has  been  said,  he  breaks 
his  fast  more  through  fear  to  rouse  Achilles' 
anger  than  from  hunger.  But,  having  eaten 
and  drunk,  the  need  of  rest  overcomes  him, 
even  in  the  house  of  his  son's  slayer.  There 
is  something  strangely  pathetic  in  this  un- 
complaining reference  to  his  fortnight-long 
fast  and  vigil,  and  in  the  overwhelming  de- 
sire for  sleep  now,  though  he  is  still  in  the 
lion's  claws. 

The  beds  are  spread  under  the  colonnade 
in  the  courtyard.    It  must  not  be  imagined 


124       ^RT    ^'^^    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

that  this  is  scant  courtesy  to  a  guest,  nor  an 
improbable  device  of  the  tale  in  order  to 
facilitate  Priam's  escape  in  the  night.  In 
the  Odyssey,  Telemachos  and  the  son  of 
Nestor  are  lodged,  together,  in  precisely  the 
same  manner  at  Menelaos'  home,  and,  in- 
deed, in  Nestor's  own  palace  as  well.  Achil- 
les, moreover,  explains  that  his  guests  are 
thus  more  secure  from  being  seen  by  any 
Greeks  less  kindly-minded  than  himself. 
Before  they  part  for  the  night,  however,  a 
most  generous,  we  may  indeed  fairly  say  a 
chivalric,  thought  occurs  to  Achilles,  and  he 
asks  his  guest :  — 

"  But  prithee  tell  me,  and  say  truthfully 
How  many  days  thou  dost  intend  to  pay 
The  rites  to  mighty  Hector,  so  that  I 
Myself  may  wait,  and  hold  my  folk  aloof." 
Then  aged,  godlike  Priam  answered  him  : 
"  If  thou  indeed  dost  wish  me  to  complete 
Great  Hector's  burial,  by  acting  thus, 
Achilles,  thou  wouldst  win  my  gratitude. 
Thou  knowest  we  are  pent  within  the  town, 
The  wood  is  from  the  mountain  far  to  fetch, 
And  much  in  fear  the  Trojans.     We  would 

wail 
Nine  days  for  him  within  our  halls,  and  on 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD        1 25 

The  tenth  would  bury  him,  and  the  folk 

would  feast. 
The  eleventh  we  could  rear  a  mound  for 

him, 
And  on  the  twelfth  will  fight,  if  needs  must 

be." 

(The  last  words  with  a  despairing  sigh,  no 
doubt. ) 

The  great  Achilles,  fleet  of  foot,  replied : 
' '  These  things  shall  be  for  thee  as  thou  dost 

bid, 
And  even  for  so  long  a  time  will  I 
Put  off  the  war  as  thou  commandest  me." 
{Ibid.  656-670.) 

So  the  exhausted  king  and  his  old  herald 
lie  down  to  rest  under  the  portico  ;  and 
Achilles  also  sleeps,  at  Briseis'  side,  within 
the  cabin. 

Bat  in  the  night  Hermes  comes  again, 
warns  Priam  of  his  danger,  and  leads  him 
safely  from  the  Greek  encampment.  At 
the  ford  of  the  Scamander  Hermes  van- 
ishes, and  day  dawns.  As  the  two  aged 
men  approach  the  town,  they  are  descried 
by  Cassandra,  and  the  wailing  folk  meet 
the  returning  king  at  the  gate.   Hector's 


126      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

wife  and  mother  at  their  head,  but  Priam 
presses  on  to  his  palace. 

When    they  had    brought    him  to  that 

famous  home, 
They  laid  him  then  upon  the  well-wrought 

bed, 
And  minstrels  set  by  him,  to  lead  the  dirge. 

(These  are  supposed  to  have  been  the  pro- 
fessional mourners  still  common  in  the 
East.) 

So  they  made  moan  for  him,  a  doleful  lay, 
And  in  response  to  them  the  women  wailed. 
White-armed  Andromache  led  the  lament, 
While  in  her  hands  man-slaying   Hector's 

head 
She  held:    "My  husband,  young    thou'rt 

gone  from  me. 
And  thou  hast  left  me  widowed  in  thy  halls. 
And  this  our  boy  is  but  a  little  child. 
To  whom  we  gave  his  life,  even  thou  and  I 
Ill-fated  ones  ;  nor  will  he  grow,  methinks. 
To   manhood.     Sooner  will  this  town  be 

sacked 
Even  from  its  topmost  tower  !  for  thou  art 

dead. 
Its  warder,  who  did  guard  it,  and  kept  safe 
Its  noble  dames  and  helpless  little  ones. 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD        I27 

They   in    the   hollow   ships   will    soon   set 
forth," 

(that  is,  as  captives  and  slaves  of  the  victo- 
rious Greeks,) 

"Myself  among  them;   and  thou,  too,  my 

child, 
Wilt  follow  me  to  do  unseemly  tasks, 
For  an  unfeeling  master  labouring ; 
Or  some  Achaian  will  seize  thee  by  the  arm 
And  hurl  thee  from  the  tower,  —  a  uNTetched 

fate, — 
Wroth  because  Hector  slew  his  brother,  or 
His  son,  or  father  ;  for  at  Hector's  hands 
Full  many  of  the  Achaians  bit  the  earth." 
{Ihid.  719-738.) 

There  is  a  ring  of  grim  exultation  even  in 
the  widow's  wail. 

The  later  cyclic  poets  say  this  prophecy  of 
Andromache  concerning  her  son's  death  was 
fulfilled  ;  but  they  are  probably  merely  ac- 
cepting the  hint  here  given  them.  Lovers 
of  Virgil  will  recall  the  scene  in  Epirus, 
seven  years  later,  where  Andromache,  see- 
ing the  boy  Ascanius,  weeps  at  the  resem- 
blance to  his  cousin  and  playfellow,  her  lost 
Astyanax. 


128       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

' '  Not  gentle  ^Yas  thy  father  in  the  fray  ! 
Therefore  the  people  mourn  him  through  the 

town, 
But  with  me  most  will  bitter  pain  abide  ! 
For  thou  didst  not  stretch  forth  thy  hands 

to  me, 
When  dying,  from  thy  bed,  nor  didst  thou 

speak 
Some  memorable  word  to  me,  which  I 
Would  have  remembered  night  and  day  in 

tears." 

So  spoke  she,  wailing,  and  the  women 
moaned. 
Responsive  ;  and  among  them  in  her  turn 
Hecab6  then  began  the  loud  lament : 
"  Hector,  by  far  the  dearest  to  my  soul 
Of  all  my  children  !     When  thou  wert  alive 
Dear  wert  thou  to  the  gods,  and  they  indeed 
Have  cared  for  thee  even  in  the  doom  of 

death. 
My  other  sons  the  fleet  Achilles  sold. 
Those  whom  he  caught,  beyond  the  unrest- 
ing sea, 
In  Samos,  Imbros,  Lemnos  wrapt  in  smoke  ; 
But  when  with  his  keen  sword  he  took  thy 

life, 
Oft  did  he  drag  thee  round  his  comrade's 
tomb, 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD        1 29 

Patroclos'  mound,  whom  tliou  hadst  slain, 

nor  yet 
Even  so  did  raise  him  up  !  " 

(Again  in  Hecab^'s  words  we  hear  the  fierce 
exultation  of  women  fit  to  be  the  mothers 
and  wives  for  a  race  of  savage  warriors.) 

' '  Now  fresh  as  dew 
And  fair  to  see  thou  liest  in  thy  halls, 
Like  one  whom,  smiting  with  his  gentle  darts, 
Apollo  of  the  silvern  bow  has  slain." 
Weeping  she  spoke,  and  roused  unbounded 
grief.  {Ihid.  739-760.) 

Artemis  or  Apollo  was  thought  to  have  slain 
those  who  died  by  some  sudden  and  appar- 
ently painless  death. 

The  next  incident  is  a  most  unlooked-for 
yet  effective  one.  That  Hector's  mother 
and  wife  should  lament  him  is  to  be  ex- 
pected ;  but  what  is  Helen,  that  she  should 
take  a  leading  place  in  this  closing  scene  ? 
Yet  the  pathos  of  her  words  fully  justifies 
the  poet's  boldness  in  introducing  her 
here :  — 

Then  third  among  them  Helen  led  their 
wail: 


130      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

"  0  Hector,  far  ttie  dearest  to  my  soul 
Of  all  thy  brethren  !     Godlike  Alexandres, 
AYho  led  me  hither,  is  indeed  my  husband,  — 
Would  he  had  perished  first ! 

For  twenty  years 
It  is  already  since  I  hither  came, 
Leaving  my  fatherland  ;  and  never  yet 
An  evn  word,  nor  rude,  I  heard  from  thee. 
If  any  other  in  the  palace  halls 
Upbraided  me,  thy  brethren,  or  their  wives 
Fair-robed,    or   sisters,    or   thy   mother, — 

but 
Thy  sire  was  ever  gentle  as  a  father 
To  me,"  — 

(Hecab^  evidently  had  not  alwaj^s  shown 
the  same  self-control  toward  this  unwel- 
come and  un wedded  daughter-in-law,) 

"  Yet  thou,  persuading  them  with  words 
Restrained  them,  with  thy  gentleness  of  soul 
And  gentle  words :  and  so  I  mourn  in  grief 
For  thee,  and  for  my  wretched  self  as  well ; 
For  in  wide  Troy  there  is  no  other  one 
Kindly  or  friendly.  All  men  shudder  at 
'me!"  (Ihi(LlGl-775.) 

Here  the  long  story  may  fairly  be  said 
to  end.  There  remains  only  a  quiet  and 
brief   description,   in   thirty   lines,  of   the 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD        I3I 

ceremonies  in  Hector's  honour.     The  last 
line  is,  — 

So  they  made  ready  knightly  Hector's  grave. 

It  is  quite  possible  that  these  closing 
scenes  enlist  our  modern  sympathies  as 
they  did  not  the  feelings  of  the  Greeks,  for 
example,  in  the  fifth  century  b.c.  Hector 
is  certainly  much  nearer  to  our  hearts  than 
is  his  savage  foe.  And  he  is,  in  fact,  of  all 
the  stately  figures  in  the  poem,  not  only 
the  most  pathetic,  but  also,  personally,  the 
most  blameless.  Achilles  fights,  like  most 
of  the  Greek  chieftains,  for  glory,  and 
afterward  for  revenge.  Agamemnon  is 
selfish  and  rapacious,  Menelaos  not  emi- 
nent for  courage  or  strength.  Even  Priam 
shares  the  guilt  of  Paris,  since,  but  for  the 
old  king's  infatuated  devotion  to  his  sin- 
ning son,  Helen  and  the  treasure  stolen 
with  her  would  long  ago  have  been  re- 
stored, liberal  atonement  made,  and  the 
fatal  war-cloud  averted  from  the  Trojan 
city.  Hector  does  not  uphold  Paris  in  the 
council-hall.  But  in  the  field  he  fights  to 
the  end,   though   hopeless    of    success,  to 


132       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

defend  his  dear  native  city  so  long  as  he 
may.  He  must  fall,  to  be  sure,  because  he 
is,  as  we  have  said,  the  bulwark  of  Ilios, 
and  Ilios  must  perish  for  the  sin  of  Paris, 
which  it  has  made  its  own. 

Yet,  in  the  closing  scene,  a  great  poetic 
genius  brings  him  home,  honoured  and 
loved  in  death  above  all  men,  to  be  la- 
mented by  his  wife,  by  his  mother,  and 
last  of  all  by  Helen,  herself  the  cause  of 
all  the  misery.  Even  at  this  final  touch 
we  shall  certainly  not  raise  the  objection  — 
though  the  Greek  audience  might  well  have 
done  so  —  that  the  hero  of  the  poem  is  for- 
gotten, the  champion  of  the  lost  and  un- 
righteous cause  unduly  exalted.  Whether 
the  ancient  singer  intended  to  suggest  it  or 
not,  let  us  hope  he  would  not  have  repelled 
the  thought  with  which  we  close  the  Iliad  : 
How  much  happier  is  Andromache  in  de- 
spairing widowhood,  how  much  more  blessed 
is  even  Hector  in  death,  than  Helen,  beau- 
tiful still  and  ever  young,  destined  yet  to 
disarm  Menelaos'  vengeance  by  her  loveli- 
ness, and  to  return  to  a  prosperous  life  in 
Sparta,  but  surrounded  by  hate  and  bitterest 


CLOSING    SCENES    OF    THE    ILIAD        1 33 

scorn,  and  hearing  always  within  her  own 
heart  the  voice  of  self-contempt.  Nay,  she 
is  even  conscious  that  she  and  her  paramour 
are  to  be  a  "  byword  among  men  of  a  far 
generation"  (VI.  358).  This  is  one  of  the 
very  few  passages  where  Homer  (or  one  of 
his  folk)  seems  to  glance  down  the  long 
corridors  of  time  toward  ourselves ! 


IV 


THE    PLOT   OF   THE    ODYSSEY 

THE  kinship  of  Iliad  and  Odyssey  can 
never  be  denied.  Despite  microscopic 
dissimilarities  which  have  been  noted,  the 
dialect,  the  metre,  and,  we  may  add,  with 
reasonable  allowance  for  the  difference  in 
subject,  even  the  vocabulary,  remain  essen- 
tially unchanged  as  we  pass  from  the  earlier 
to  the  younger  epic.  Where  the  same  char- 
acters appear  in  both  poems,  —  for  exam- 
ple, Odysseus,  Nestor,  Menelaos, — there  is 
a  careful  consistency  in  the  traits  assigned 
to  them.  This  statement  may  be  extended 
even  to  Achilles,  though  he  appears  in  the 
Odyssey  only  as  a  ghost  in  the  underworld. 
The  sole  important  exception,  if  she  be  one, 
is  Helen.  Even  in  this  case  the  difference 
is  of  course  partly  one  of  circumstances  ; 
and  the  restoration  of  Menelaos'  wife  to 
134 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY         1 35 

her  former  position  may  have  been  firmly- 
fixed  in  the  legend  before  Homer.  So 
Tennyson,  with  all  the  changes  he  permits 
himself,  could  perhaps  hardly  have  brought 
back  Guinevere  to  Arthur's  throne,  or  even 
bidden  Elaine  live,  to  wed  happily  with 
Launcelot.  We  may  even  please  ourselves 
with  the  belief  that  our  sterner  Teutonic 
or  Keltic  morality  made  the  queen's  fall 
from  virtue  an  irreparable  one,  just  as  the 
Greek  worship  of  beauty  could  hardly  be 
satisfied  unless  Helen  rode,  unconquerable 
still,  in  all  her  radiant  charms,  over  the 
black  billows  of  a  war  which  was  aroused 
by  her  sin,  and  had  engulfed  the  chosen 
youth  of  her  generation  ! 

In  what  we  may  call  the  accidents  of 
structure,  also,  there  are  striking  analogies 
between  the  two  Homeric  poems.  Each 
deals  with  the  long-delayed  but  sure  and 
complete  fulfilment  of  a  decree  uttered  by 
Zeus.  In  the  first  book  of  the  Iliad,  Thetis 
prays  that  the  Greeks  may  suffer  in  atone- 
ment for  Achilles'  wrongs  (508-510),  and 
Zeus  impressively  nods  his  assent  (524-527). 
In  the  assembly  of  the  gods  at  the  opening 


136      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

of  the  Odyssey,  Zeus  himself  proposes  Odys- 
seus' home-return  (Book  I.  76,  77),  and  in 
the  similar  divine  council  which  opens  Book 
V.  declares  it  as  the  settled  decree  of  fate 
(41,  42)  :  — 

"  So  is  it  destined  that  he  shall  see  his  be- 
loved, returning 

Unto  his  high- roofed  hall  and  unto  the  land 
of  his  fathers." 

This  divine  machinery  seems  to  us,  per- 
haps, a  rather  foreign  and  artificial  addi- 
tion to  the  ancient  epic ;  and  in  Virgil's 
age  of  scepticism  it  evidently  is  so,  to  some 
extent.  But  much  the  same  effect  is  pro- 
duced, also,  upon  our  minds,  at  the  present 
day,  by  the  witch  scenes  in  Macbeth.  Yet 
Hecate  and  her  beldames  were,  probably, 
three  centuries  ago,  quite  as  real  to  many 
Englishmen  as  the  gods  of  the  Odyssey 
were  to  the  poet's  first  auditors.  Indeed, 
we  ourselves  are  hardly  far  enough  removed 
from  Cotton  Mather's  demonology  and  the 
Salem  witchcraft  to  stigmatize  either  the 
Homeric  theology  or  Shakespeare's  witches 
as  merely  a  degrading  superstition. 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY         1 37 

As  the  Iliad  opens  in  the  tenth  and  last 
year  of  Troy's  beleaguerment,  so  the  com- 
panion poem  begins  with  the  tenth  and  final 
year  of  Odysseus'  long  wanderings  on  his 
homeward  way.  Each  epic  crowds  its 
action  into  a  comparatively  small  number 
of  days,  — fifty-one  in  the  Iliad,  forty-one 
in  the  Odyssey,  while  even  of  these  a 
few  only  are  eventful,  — but  both  poems 
give  us  also,  incidentally,  vivid  pictures  of 
previous  events,  and  significant  glimpses 
as  well  into  the  future.  As  Achilles'  doom 
was  thrice  foretold  with  increasing  defi- 
niteness,  so  now  we  hear  of  Menelaos' 
destiny  (Odyssey,  IV.  561-569),  to  be  trans- 
ferred, without  dying,  to  the  Elysian  plain, 
because  he  is  wedded  to  Zeus'  daughter 
Helen  ;  and  we  listen  also  to  an  equally 
mystical  hint  as  to  the  hero  Odysseus'  own 
last  adventure  (XI.  134-136)  :  — 

"And  Death  shall  come  to  thee  out  of  the 

waters  ; 
Gentle  shall  be  his  coming  to  slay  thee,  when 

thou  art  wearied, 
Aging  slowly,  and  seeing  thy  people  happy 

about  thee." 


138       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

In  the  Iliad,  we  hear  only  briefly,  and  as 
it  were  accidentally,  concerning  the  origin 
of  the  war  and  its  progress  hitherto  ;  while 
four  entire  books  of  the  younger  epic  are 
taken  up  with  the  hero's  own  account  of 
previous  adventures.  But  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  the  Iliad  professes  to  deal 
only  with  an  episode,  — 

Sing,  0  goddess,  the  wrath  of  Achilles,  — 

while  the  Odyssey  is  a  story  with  a  hero :  — 

Tell  me,  0  Muse,  of  the  man  of  many  de- 
vices, who  widely 

"Wandered,  when  he  had  sacked  that  well- 
walled  city  of  Troia. 

So  that  these  four  books-  of  narrative 
(IX.-XII.)  are  after  all  no  digression,  and 
require  no  apology. 

The  device  of  plunging  into  the  midst 
of  the  action,  and  permitting  a  leading 
character  to  relate  his  own  exploits,  has 
been  imitated  frequently ;  for  example, 
closely  by  Virgil,  less  so  by  Milton.  Lov- 
ers of  the  Autocrat  will  remember  how  the 
Breakfast  Table  was  once  shocked  by  the 


THE   PLOT   OF    THE   ODYSSEY        1 39 

remark,  * '  A  woman  would  rather  hear  a 
man  talk  than  an  angel,  any  time  !  "  and 
how  it  is  justified  by  the  citation  of  a  pas- 
sage in  Paradise  Lost,  where  Adam  asks 
from  the  archangel  concerning  the  deeper 
mysteries  "of  creation,  but  Eve  withdraws 
into  the  garden  :  — 

"  Her  husband  the  relator  she  preferred 
Before  the  Angel." 

The  magician  who  told  the  loves  of  Othello 
and  Desdemona  also  realized  how  effective 
it  is  to  hear  from  the  hero's  own  lips  the 
tale 

"  of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field." 

Even  the  Shakespearean  motif  of  woman's 
love  won  through  sympathy  is  original  with 
Nausicaa's  poet,  though  Virgil's  Dido  and 
her  passion  make  a  larger  element  in  the 
epic  plot. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  added,  as  another  feat- 
ure of  both  poems,  that  the  catastrophe  is 
skilfully  retarded,  and  the  exact  manner  in 
which  it  will  be  brought  about  is  long  hid- 
den from  the  listener.     As  the  interven- 


140      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

tion  and  death  of  Patroclos,  extinguishing 
Achilles'  wrath  in  the  mightier  flame  of  his 
grief,  could  not  easily  be  foreseen,  so  the 
trial  of  strength  with  the  bow,  proposed  in 
good  faith  by  Penelope  to  decide  her  choice 
among  the  suitors,  puts  a  great  advantage 
into  her  unrecognized  husband's  hands. 
Several  passages  early  in  the  Odyssey,  sug- 
gesting that  young  Telemachos  may  him- 
self destroy  the  suitors,  especially  Pallas 
Athene's  own  words  reminding  the  prince 
of  Orestes'  brave  deed  (1. 298-302),  leave  us 
in  some  doubt,  until  his  father  and  he  unite 
their  counsels  and  their  valour  in  the  great 
closing  scenes. 

Here,  however,  we  perhaps  touch  upon 
the  chief  defect  of  the  Iliad.  Its  action 
is  retarded  by  interruptions,  not  merely  by 
digressions.  The  Odyssey  is  'the  shorter 
poem  by  several  thousand  lines,  but  yet 
has  both  a  much  greater  variety  of  interest 
and  a  completer  unity.  We  do  not,  I 
think,  feel  at  any  time  that  the  action  of 
the  Odyssey  is  deliberately  and  unduly 
delayed.  While  Achilles  is  unseen  and 
almost  forgotten  through  many  books  of 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY        I41 

the  Iliad,  we  almost  never  lose  sight  of 
Odysseus,  and  his  fortunes  are  always 
of  supreme  importance.  This  single  and 
unbroken  thread  of  human  interest  aids 
essentially  in  making  the  Odyssey  what  we 
believe  it  is,  —  the  best  of  all  the  good 
stories  that  ever  were  told  ! 

The  most  striking  difference  between 
the  two  poems  may  be  found  in  the  un- 
varied setting  of  the  elder  epic,  the  shift- 
ing scene  of  the  younger.  In  the  Iliad, 
our  gaze  ranges  only  from  the  ships  and 
cabins  of  the  Greeks  on  the  Hellespon- 
tine  shore  to  the  homes  and  streets  of 
the  beleaguered  town,  or  at  farthest  to 
Zeus'  seat  on  Ida  whence  he  overlooks 
both  hosts.  Even  the  divine  abodes  seem 
close  at  hand :  the  gods,  debating  only  upon 
the  issue  of  the  war,  keep  their  eyes  fixed, 
as  it  were,  upon  the  Trojan  plain,  and 
nearly  all  of  them  actually  enter  the  field 
of  battle  on  some  occasion. 

In  the  Odyssey,  the  heavens  are  grown 
larger  as  well  as  more  serene,  while  of  the 
earth  we  have  an  infinitely  wider  and  more 
varied  view.     First  of  all,  we  olance,  with 


14^      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IX    HOMER 

the  gods,  at  Calypso's  remote  isle,  where 
Odysseus  pines  in  exile.  Then,  after  a  vivid 
glimpse  at  Ithaca  and  the  suitors'  misdeeds, 
we  see  Telemachos  set  off  for  the  kingdoms 
of  the  mainland.  As  Nestor  and  Menelaos 
relate  to  him  the  story  of  their  home- 
ward voyages  from  Troyland,  they  seem 
to  put  us  for  the  moment  in  direct  con- 
nection with  the  familiar  scene  of  the 
Iliad.  Again,  we  follow  Odysseus  as  he 
starts  from  Calypso's  abode,  and,  sailing, 
drifting,  swimming,  reaches  at  last  the 
Phaeacians'  shore.  At  the  banquet,  we 
retrace  wath  him  the  world-wide  wander- 
ings, during  which  each  of  his  comrades 
has  found  a  miserable  end.  Presently, 
■we  sway  over  the  long  surges  with  him 
once  more,  as  he  passes  homeward,  sleep- 
ing soundly  through  the  all-night  voyage, 
upon  the  magic  bark  that  flies  "  swifter 
than  the  thought  of  man."  Meantime, 
the  wanderings  of  Telemachos  and  the 
perplexities  of  Penelope  have  occasion- 
ally divided  our  attention.  Two-thirds 
of  the  poem  are  completed  when  father 
and  son  are  united  in  the  faithful  swine- 


THE   PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY        1 43 

herd's  cabin.  From  this  point  the  swiftly- 
moving  action  is  centred  in  the  little  island 
kingdom  of  Ithaca. 

Some  great  advantages  the  Odyssey  cer- 
tainly gains  through  this  widening  of  its 
scene.  The  Iliad  offers  us,  as  has  been 
said,  a  single  magnificent  picture,  that  of 
Troy  Besieged,  Even  the  Olympian  gods 
seem  merely  to  occupy  a  coincident  upper 
stage,  as  in  the  mediaeval  miracle-plays 
heaven  and  earth,  indeed  hell  also,  are 
represented  simultaneously  open  before  the 
eyes  of  the  audience.  Conditions  are,  so 
to  speak,  abnormal,  certainly  exceptional, 
everywhere  in  the  Iliad.  The  Greeks  are 
homeless  and  demoralized.  The  camp  is 
full  of  captive  widows  and  orphaned  maids 
condemned  to  a  state  worse  than  mere 
slavery.  The  town  is  crowded  with  the 
armies  of  its  allies,  and  reduced  almost 
to  desperation.  The  very  gods  in  heaven 
imitate  mankind  with  unseemly  quarrels 
and  threats,  or  even  with  actual  violence, 
culminating  in  the  opera-bouffe  scene  where 
Hera  castigates  Artemis.  There  is  no  other 
picture  of  war  so  brilliant,  so  vivid,  so  in- 


144       -^RT    AXD    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

delibly  stamped  upon  the  imagination  of 
mankind. 

Now,  if  the  younger  poem  had  confined 
itself  to  Odysseus'  home-coming  and  grim 
vengeance  on  the  jackals  that  troubled  the 
lion's  lair,  this  picture  of  the  impoverished 
royal  family,  the  disordered  palace,  and 
the  riotous  suitors  would  have  been  hope- 
lessly inferior  in  tragic  dignity  and  in 
artistic  scope  to  that  contest  which  so  long 
shook  the  Scamandrian  plain,  and  made 
Pluto  leap  from  his  throne  in  terror  lest 
his  ghastly  realm  be  revealed  to  the  light 
of  the  sun.  But  in  the  Odyssey,  as  an  ade- 
quate compensation,  is  unrolled  the  mag- 
nificent background,  the  entire  Homeric 
world. 

Through  Telemachos'  eyes  we  see  Nestor 
and  Menelaos  ruling  in  peace  and  in  luxury 
over  prosperous,  contented  Greek  peoples ; 
and  thus  we  acquire,  through  contrast,  a 
juster  conception  of  distracted  Ithaca,  as 
well  as  a  delightful  picture  of  patriarchal 
Hellas  in  times  of  peace. 

In  Scheria  we  have  a  happy  ideal  .sketch, 
not  without  mildly  satirical  strokes,  of  a 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY        I45 

Still  gentler  race.  As  sailors  and  voyagers 
the  Phfeacians  are  beyond  rivalry,  but 
otherwise  their  life  is  an  idle  one.  As 
their  merry  ruler  says, 

"  Ever  delightful  to  us  is  the  banquet,  music 

and  dancing, 
Garments  changed  full  often,  and  hot-water 

baths,  and  our  couches." 

Evidently  a  people  to  be  looked  upon  by 
Greek  eyes  with  an  indulgent  smile. 

In  Odysseus'  narrative  we  have,  again, 
added  like  a  darker  fringe  to  these  bright 
pictures,  the  wild  scenes  on  the  edge  of 
the  habitable  world.  We  shudder  in  the 
Cyclops'  cave,  flee  from  Scylla's  writh- 
ing heads,  hear  the  Sirens'  song  as  the 
waves  dash  over  their  victims'  whitening 
bones,  and  even  gain  more  than  a  glimpse 
at  the  mist-wrapped  abode  of  the  dead. 

These  adventures,  also,  glorify  Odysseus, 
the  chief  figure  in  them  all,  and  accompany 
him,  as  it  were,  toward  his  desecrated  home. 
As  the  unknown  and  oft-insulted  beggar 
rolls  grim,  silent  eyes  about  the  tumultuous 
hall  of  his  heritage,  marking  for  death  the 
I. 


146      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

unbidden  banqueters,  vfe  remember  that 
this  is  the  same  dauntless  hero  who  quelled 
Circe,  blinded  Polyphemus,  and  called  up 
Teiresias  from  Hades.  We  realize  that 
Pallas  and  Hermes,  who  saved  him  then, 
will  surely  make  him  resistless  now. 

This  poem,  then,  is  an  artistic  whole  ; 
and  the  key  to  its  unity  is  truly  given 
in  the  opening  note.  It  is  the  personality 
of  Odysseus,  the  story  of  his  return  to 
Ithaca.  And  yet  we  may  find  that  the 
temptation  will  at  times  beset  us,  even 
more  than  with  the  Iliad,  to  forget  that 
whole  in  the  dreamy  enjoyment  of  its 
parts.  We  may  even  excuse  ourselves 
with  the  thought  that  the  poet  himself 
has  not  wholly  resisted  the  corresponding 
temptation.  The  singer  of  the  Odyssey 
seems  to  have  much  more  of  the  romantic 
spirit  than  he  —  or  they  —  of  the  Iliad. 
There  is  an  occasional  appeal  to  senti- 
ment for  its  own  sake.  There  is  a  tender 
and  lingering  touch  in  certain  episodes, 
which  indicates  that  they  are  elaborated 
for  their  own  idyllic  beauty  as  much  as 
for  the  benefit  of  the  plot. 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY        I47 

In  the  Iliad,  the  rare  appeals  to  softer 
emotions  are  more  evidently  for  the  sake 
of  contrast.  Hector's  parting,  to  take  a 
shining  example,  avowedly  foreshadows 
his  death,  deepening  its  pathos  and  im- 
pressiveness.  Mighty  indeed  —  so  runs 
the  undercurrent  of  our  thought  —  is  Achil- 
les ;  mightier  yet  the  justice  that  dooms 
guilty  Ilios,  since  it  could  compel  the  fall 
even  of  such  a  worthy  favourite  among 
gods  and  men  as  Hector.  If  we  linger  a 
moment  over  the  guilty  love  of  Paris  and 
Helen,  we  see  in  the  same  instant  —  never 
in  truth  more  clearly  —  the  wronged  and 
baffled  Menelaos,  and  almost  hear  the  swift 
wings  of  his  coming  revenge.  But  with 
Nausicaa  we  linger  not  only  long,  but 
lovingly.  We  are  forgetting  Penelope  ; 
and  I  fear  we  might  almost  find  it  in  our 
hearts  to  forgive  the  sea-worn  and  war- 
worn hero  if  he  too  had  forgotten  her  ! 

Still  more  difficult  to  fit  into  the  ethical 
frame  of  the  picture  is  the  Helen  of  the 
Odyssey.  As  she,  or  her  poet,  unfolds 
each  womanly  and  queenly  accomplish- 
ment, and,  touching  even  upon  the  dread- 


148       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

ful  past,  manages  to  recall  scenes  and 
motives  which  soften  our  feelings  as  to 
her  abiding  in  Troy,  we  realize  that  upon 
us,  also,  the  starry  eyes  of  Argive  Helen 
glow  resistless.  We  take  our  places  among 
her  fascinated  guests,  and  no  longer  wonder 
that  she  outlived  that  terrible  night  when 
Priam's  gray  hairs  won  no  mercy,  and 
Pallas'  shrine  could  not  save  Cassandra's 
honour.  (There  are  works  of  art  in  which 
the  dagger  is  seen  dropping  from  Menelaos' 
hand  as  Helen  unveils  before  him :  for 
example,  Baumeister,  pp.  745,  746.)  To 
us,  even  as  to  the  brother  of  Antilochos 
slain  and  to  Odysseus'  fatherless  son, 
Helen  proffers  the  nepenthe  which  drowns 
just  grief  and  resentment  for  the  evils  of 
former  days.  Yet  all  this  is  at  least  aside 
from,  if  not  antagonistic  to,  the  avowed 
theme  and  purpose  of  the  poet. 

If  Nausicaa  is  lovable  as  well  as  loving, 
it  may  perhaps  be  pleaded  that  she  is  so 
much  the  fitter  to  be  the  last  temptation  of 
the  patient  hero,  as  he  passes  on,  lonely 
and  saddened,  yet  steadfast,  homeward. 
Calypso,  he  knows,  was  fairer  and  statelier 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY        1 49 

than  his  mortal  ^Yife  had  ever  been.  Naii- 
sicaa,  too,  he  will  gladly  honour  as  a  divin- 
ity.   Yet, 

' '  East  or  west, 
Home  is  best." 

But  why  should  Helen  be  ever  beautiful, 
and  honoured,  and  even  happy,  while  fault- 
less Penelope  grows  old  in  sorrow  and  per- 
secution ?  One  is  tempted  to  think^  that 
our  poet  has  himself  failed  to  see  any  ade- 
quate retribution  overtaking  his  men  and 
women  ;  that  he  even,  like  an  earlier  Eurip- 
ides, emphasizes  in  his  art  the  failure  of 
the  divinity  to  visit  vengeance  upon  sin, 
and  to  bestow  happiness  upon  the  righteous. 
Perhaps  it  will  be  wiser,  nevertheless,  to 
recur  to  our  former  phrase,  and  to  recog- 
nize in  the  Odyssey  merely  an  increasing 
romantic  element,  a  bolder  appeal  to  senti- 
ment, a  fuller  elaboration  of  the  parts  for 
the  sake  of  their  own  beauty.  It  is  a  famil- 
iar tendency,  which  the  late  John  Adding- 
ton  Symonds  was  never  tired  of  pointing 
out.  There  will  always  be  more  of  us  to 
enjoy  Praxiteles'  softened  outlines  than 
Phidias'  rugged  strength.     "Euripides  the 


150       ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

human"  draws  tears  more  easily  than 
^schylos,  —  or,  in  more  modern  terms, 
The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  more  easily  than 
Macbeth,  —  though  perhaps  not  from  such 
deep  sources,  mysterious  even  to  ourselves. 
A  more  fruitful  comparison,  however,  may 
be  made  with  the  austere  art  of  Milton  and 
the  linked  sweetness  of  Tennyson. 

Three  thousand  years  hence,  if  all  other 
literature  and  tradition  of  England  shall 
have  perished,  men  may  seriously  discuss 
whether  one  poet  could  have  composed 
Paradise  Lost  and  the  Idylls  of  the  King. 
The  theology  of  the  two  is  not  irreconcila- 
ble. The  language,  the  metre,  the  poetic 
tradition,  may  then  appear  essentially  iden- 
tical. Certainly,  the  later  poem  should 
reveal  a  perfect  familiarity  with  the  earlier 
one,  since  the  laureate  counted  as  chief 
among  his  masters  the  "God-gifted  organ 
voice  of  England." 

So  much,  at  least,  is  true  of  Iliad  and 
Odyssey.  It  is  not  strange  that  the  claim 
of  Homer  as  the  author  of  both  was  main- 
tained among  the  ancients,  even  after  the 
Cyclic  epics  and  the  Homeric  hymns  had 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY         I5I 

been  rightly  assigned  to  a  later  age  and  to 
feebler  hands.  There  are  still  many  who 
find  it  easier  to  abide  by  the  tradition  of 
one  great  epic  poet  than  to  accept  the  possi- 
bility of  two  so  alike  and  so  equal  in  power. 
And  surely  it  is  conceivable  that  a  single 
genius  should  have  shaped  the  two  great 
poems.  Tennyson's  poetical  career  lasted 
just  about  as  long  as  the  period  from  the 
composition  of  the  earliest  extant  drama  of 
JEschylos  which  can  be  accurately  dated, 
The  Persians,  to  the  death  of  Euripides 
and  Sophocles.  A  briefer  epoch  might  in- 
clude both  Homeric  epics.  The  Iliad  and 
the  Odyssey  may  to  many  seem  more  closely 
akin  than  In  Memoriam  and  Harold.  I 
find  it,  for  myself,  however,  in  high  degree 
improbable  that  one  man  lived  to  see,  and 
even  led,  so  great  a  transition  from  classic 
toward  romantic  taste  ;  from  an  age  which 
was  content  to  devote  an  Iliad  to  the  glori- 
fication of  war  to  the  generation  which  felt 
the  full  pathos  of  Odysseus'  longing  for 
home  and  rest,  overpowering  even  the 
charm  of  world-wide  adventure  and  mar- 
vellous experience.     Such  a  transition  is 


152      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

implied  in  the  ancient  belief  that  the  Iliad 
was  the  work  of  Homer's  prime,  the  Odys- 
sey the  child  of  his  age.  Though  perhaps 
not  literally,  it  is  figuratively  true,  —  true 
of  a  race,  of  a  civilization,  if  not  of  an 
individual. 

The  argument  that  it  is  easier  to  believe 
in  the  existence  of  one  great  epic  poet  than 
of  two,  or  of  a  school,  seems  to  us  distinctly 
against  the  weight  of  evidence.  It  is  not 
a  mere  popular  fancy  that  arranges  the 
greatest  authors  in  contemporary  groups. 
Horace  is  the  natural  pendant  of  Virgil, 
Schiller  and  Lessing  help  to  render  Goethe's 
career  intelligible,  Lowell  was  produced  by 
the  conditions  which  made  Emerson  pos- 
sible. The  best  illustration  is,  however, 
the  age  of  Greek  drama.  Even  the  three 
tragedians  just  mentioned  did  not  hold  the 
field  alone.  If  Phrynichos,  Ion,  Agathon, 
and  the  rest  had  survived,  we  might  per- 
haps have  accepted  the  Athenian  people's 
judgment,  which  repeatedly  preferred  them 
to  the  surviving  masters,  granting  to  (Edi- 
pus  the  King  only  a  second  prize,  and  to 
Medea  the  third  !     Even  so,  there  are  yet 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY         1 53 

remaining  beautiful  though  scanty  epic 
fragments,  indicating  that  there  may  have 
been  not  merely  two,  but  twenty,  great 
masters  of  the  hexameter. 

Before  we  turn  to  the  somewhat  detailed 
discussion  of  the  structure  of  the  Odyssey, 
I  should  like  to  dwell  for  an  instant  on  the 
contrast  in  the  spirit  of  the  two  glorious 
epics.  The  prevailing  note  of  the  Iliad 
seems  to  be  the  fierce  delight  in  strife  and 
bloodshed.  The  war-worn  and  wave-worn 
hero  of  the  Odyssey  realizes  that  he  has 
gained  rich  experience  and  wisdom  by  wan- 
dering, and  his  eagerness  to  see  and  know 
is  not  easily  sated ;  yet  the  chord  which 
vibrates  most  strongly  throughout  the 
younger  poem  is  the  longing  for  the  peace 
of  home-life. 

There  is  a  passage  near  the  close  of  the 
Odyssey  in  which  the  night  following  the 
slaying  of  the  suitors  is  divinely  prolonged, 
that  Odysseus  may  enjoy  with  Penelope 
comfort  and  repose  after  twenty  years' 
separation.  The  poet  has  taken  this  oppor- 
tunity to  recall  rapidly,  through  Odysseus' 


154      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

lips,  in  their  proper  sequence,  the  ad- 
ventures of  his  hero  since  the  fall  of  Troy. 
We  may  seize  the  same  occasion  to  pass 
in  review  some  of  the  familiar  tales  of 
folk-lore  which  have  crystallized  about 
the  central  story  of  the  returning  hus- 
band. 

Little  success  in  winning  popular  ap- 
proval has  attended  the  efforts  spent  in 
attacking  the  essential  unity  of  plot  and  of 
probable  authorship  in  our  Odyssey.  Yet 
for  every  comedy  of  Shakespeare,  save  The 
Tempest,  suggestions  have  been  found  in 
earlier  works,  usually  in  tales  of  other 
races.  Even  so,  it  is  no  detraction  from 
Homer's  originality  if  many  incidents  woven 
into  the  Odyssey  are  traced  to  myths  un- 
connected with  Penelope's  husband,  some 
of  them  probably  not  even  Greek  in  their 
origin. 

The  verses  of  Homer  outlining  the  narra- 
tive as  it  was  thus  told  to  Penelope  will 
serve,  at  least  in  part,  as  texts  for  us  to  gloss. 

First  Odysseus  told  how  he   the   Cicones 
conquered.  (Od.  XXIII.  310.) 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY        1 55 

These  allies  of  Priam  furnish  the  only  vic- 
tory and  booty  of  the  Ithacans  in  the  long 
tale  of  woe  and  death.  Even  here  defeat 
quickly  followed,  and  loss  of  many  lives. 

Then  in  the  fertile  land  of  the  lotus-eaters 
he  tarried.  {Ibid.  311.) 

We  are  perhaps  not  yet  beyond  the  pale  of 
realities,  and  the  lotus  has  been  identified 
sometimes  with  the  "jujuba"  of  northern 
Africa;  sometimes,  also,  with  the  "man- 
drakes" which  Reuben  brought  to  his 
mother  Leah  (Genesis  xxx.  14).  Some 
narcotic  is  doubtless  indicated  by  the  po- 
etic account,  though  Homer  does  not  dis- 
tinctly assert  anything  more  than  that 
Odysseus'  comrades  liked  it :  — 

Whoso  among  them  the  honey-sweet  fruit 
of  the  lotus  had  tasted 

Would  not  depart  from  the  land,  nor  even 
report  with  the  tidings. 

There  were  they  fain  to  remain  with  the 
folk  that  ate  of  the  lotus. 

Feeding  ever  thereon ;  and  the  path  of  re- 
turn was  forgotten.  (Od.  IX.  94-97.) 

The  incident  is  a  brief  and  unimportant 


156      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

one  in  Homer,  and  Tennyson's  genius  may 
fairly  be  said  to  have  wrested  tlie  subject 
from  tlie  master's  liand. 

All  that  the  Cyclops  wrought  he  related; 
and  how  he  exacted 

Vengeance  for  comrades  brave,  by  the  mon- 
ster ruthlessly  eaten. 

(Od.  XXIII.  312-313.) 

In  this  case,  Odysseus  confesses,  his  com- 
panions were  more  wisely  cautious  than  he. 
His  foolhardy  lingering  in  the  cavern  till 
the  giant  should  return  is  hardly  offset  by 
the  final  escape  with  a  remnant  of  his  crew. 
Perhaps  these  features  mark  the  story  as  an 
imperfect  adaptation  from  a  foreign  source. 
The  legend  of  the  one-eyed  man-eating  ogre 
is  curiously  widespread,  from  Tartary  to 
Ireland.  It  is,  at  any  rate,  fitted  skilfully 
into  the  Homeric  plot ;  for  Poseidon,  we 
are  told,  is  the  Cyclops'  father,  and  the 
sea-god's  wrath  follows  relentlessly  the  men 
who  had  blinded  his  son.  Yet,  as  in  Cole- 
ridge's tale  of  the  albatross,  the  chief  guilty 
one  —  if  guilt  there  was  in  such  self-defence 
—  is  the  sole  survivor  at  last ! 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY        1 57 

^olus,  wlio  is  next  visited,  and  who  gives 
the  vs^inds  to  Odysseus  in  a  bag,  is,  accord- 
ing to  Andrew  Lang,  "an  heroic  ancestor 
of  the  witches  who  down  to  the  present 
century  sold  winds  in  the  same  fashion  to 
Scottish  mariners."  These  Homeric  blasts 
were,  however,  the  winds  that  were  not  to 
blow.  Only  the  west  wind  was  left  free,  and 
would  have  wafted  the  exiles  speedily  home. 
The  untying  of  the  sack  while  Odysseus 
sleeps  recalls  the  motif  of  the  Pandora 
myth,  and  of  countless  others  in  all  lands. 

The  cannibal  Lsestrygonians,  whom  the 
Ithacans  next  visit,  destroy  all  the  ships 
save  one,  with  their  crews.  These  savages 
live  by  a  narrow  fiord  between  high  rock 
walls,  where  ' '  the  paths  of  day  and  night 
are  nigh  together,"  and  "a  sleepless  man 
might  earn  a  double  wage"  as  herdsman. 
This  is  surely  a  reminiscence  of  the  long 
arctic  day.  If  it  is  too  early  a  date  for 
Mediterranean  sailors  to  have  fared  so  far 
as  Norway,  the  vague  legend  may  have 
reached  Greek  lands  by  the  overland  trade 
route  along  which  amber  came  to  the  south- 
ern peoples. 


158       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

The  lonely  floating  island  of  ^olus,  it 
has  been  suggested,  may  have  originated  in 
some  sailor's  tale  of  an  iceberg.  It  seems 
to  be  near  the  Leestrygonians'  coast,  since 
no  night  is  mentioned  as  intervening  on  the 
voyage  from  their  land  to  ^olia,  and  an  old 
tradition  made  Coins'  wife  one  of  their 
people. 

Then  he  related  the  craft  and  the  many 
devices  of  Circe.     (Od.  XXIII.  321.) 

The  ethical  interpretation  of  the  Circean 
myth — that  sensuality  makes  men  truly 
bestial  —  is  at  least  as  old  as  Socrates.  But 
the  marvel  is  doubtless  more  ancient  than 
the  moral.  The  legend  has  plenty  of  par- 
allels elsewhere,  the  most  familiar  being 
Queen  Lab6  in  the  Arabian  Xights,  who 
also  transforms  her  discarded  lovers  into 
various  beasts.  Indeed,  the  change  to  ani- 
mal forms  is  one  of  the  most  familiar  ele- 
ments of  enchantment  everywhere.  The 
terrible  were- wolf  superstition  died  late  and 
hard,  if  it  is  even  now  extinct. 

From  Circe's  island  Odysseus  made  his 
excursion  to  Hades,  and  returned  thence  to 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY         1 59 

the  enchantress.  The  Kimmerian  land  of 
ghosts,  ever  wrapped  in  fog,  may  be  a  sort 
of  pendant  to  the  Laestrygonian  legend,  sug- 
gested by  the  long  night  of  the  far  north  or 
of  the  far  south. 

A  curious  geographical  question  arises  at 
this  point.  At  Coins'  isle  Odysseus  was 
west  of  his  Grecian  home,  since  Zephyrus 
was  to  carry  him  thither.  Circe's  island, 
like  Lsestrygonia,  seems  to  be  within  a 
day's  sail  of  JEolus.  Yet  the  hero  is  said 
to  return  from  the  realm  of  the  dead  (Od. 
XII.  3,  4)  to  Circe,  coming 

Unto  the  isle  ^eea,  where  early  Dawn  has 

her  dwelling : 
There  are  her  dancing-places,  the  land  of 

the  sun's  uprising. 

Commentators,  old  and  new,  have  struggled 
with  the  problem  how  Circe's  island  home 
can  be  both  in  the  remote  west  and  in  the 
far  east.  President  Warren  utilizes  this  pas- 
sage as  the  corner-stone  of  his  theory  that 
Homer  was  aware  of  the  shape  of  our  globe, 
and  makes  his  hero  circumnavigate  it.  This 
is  but  a  part  of  the  learned  and  elaborately 


l6o      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IiN    HOMER 

woven  argument  by  which  Dr.  Warren  lo- 
cates the  lost  earthly  Paradise  at  the  north 
pole.  It  does  not  seem  quite  impossible 
that  a  truer  cosmology  than  the  later  classic 
beliefs  may  have  been  included  among  those 
Lost  Arts  with  which  Wendell  Phillips' 
silvery  tongue  delighted  our  boyhood. 

Then  did  he  tell  how  he  heard  the  song  of 
the  clear- voiced  Sirens. 

(Od.  XXIII.  326.) 

Their  voices  are  still  heard  across  every 
"perilous  sea  of  fairyland  forlorn."  The 
Wandering  Rocks,  between  which  no  ship 
save  Argo  had  ever  passed  uncrushed,  are 
said  to  be  described  in  old  sailors'  tales 
even  among  the  Aztecs  of  our  own  con- 
tinent. Scylla's  writhing  heads,  each  of 
which  drags  a  man  from  the  vessel's  deck, 
seems  to  be  a  polypus  or  devil-fish.  The 
belief  that  these  creatures  are  occasionally 
so  enormous  as  to  attack  even  a  ship  suc- 
cessfully is  by  no  means  only  an  ancient 
one. 

Lastly,  for  devouring  the  sacred  kine  of 
Helios,  the  sun-god,  in  Thrinakia,  the  crew 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY        l6l 

of  Odysseus'  ship  are  destroyed  in  a  deep- 
sea  shipwrecl?:  by  Zeus'  thunderbolt.  The 
hero,  alone,  drifts,  after  many  days,  to  the 
isle  of  Calypso,  in  the  centre  of  the  sea. 
In  this  lovely  earthly  Paradise  (as  Dr.  War- 
ren declares  it  to  be,  though  but  a  dim  and 
distorted  wraith  of  the  true  tradition  re- 
mains, according  to  him,  in  Homer)  Odys- 
seus spends  seven  years  with  the  gentle  and 
loving  nymph.  Of  the  hero's  last  voyage, 
to  Phseacia,  we  have  spoken,  and  shall  speak 
again. 

The  night-long  slumber  on  the  Phseacian 
ship,  already  mentioned,  seems  a  clear  re- 
minder that  the  curtain  of  fairyland  is  here 
pushed  aside,  while  the  Ithacan  wanderer 
emerges  again  into  the  real  world.  From 
the  Cyclops  to  the  Phaeacians,  everything 
lies  at  an  unknown  distance  from  Greece,  in 
a  trackless  sea,  quite  beyond  the  pale  of 
merely  human  experience.  Several  pas- 
sages remind  us  to  include  the  gentle  Phsea- 
cians,  also,  in  this  part  of  the  tale.  We 
are  informed  that  they  were  formerly  neigh- 
bours of  the  Cyclops,  and  are  "very  near 
to  the  Immortals."     After  they  have  con- 


1 62   ART  AND  HUMANITY  IN  HOMER 

ducted  the  craftj^  Ithacan  homeward,  Posei- 
don resolves  to  turn  the  offending  vessel 
to  stone,  and  wall  up  their  city  behind  a 
mountain.  The  Phseacian  king  sees  the  sig- 
nificance of  all  this,  the  more  as  it  fulfils  an 
ancient  oracle,  and  bids  his  people 

"Cease  from  the  convoy  of  men,  when  any 
shall  come  to  our  city." 

(Od.  XIII.  180.) 

The  poetic  significajnce  of  this  passage  is 
surely  no  less  clear.  Never  shall  mariner 
or  adventurer  bring  further  tidings  home 
from  the  happy  Phseacian  land.  Like  the 
German  maiden  in  the  cursed  village  of 
Germelshausen,  the  loving  Nausicaa  is  seen 
but  for  a  day ;  nor  may  any  weaker  hand 
"  the  lost  clue  regain." 

The  latter  half  of  the  poem  has  a  com- 
paratively realistic  character.  The  scene 
is  either  in  the  great  house  of  Odysseus,  or 
in  the  swineherd's  cabin  on  the  further  side 
of  rocky  Ithaca.  In  the  accounts  of  Penel- 
ope's and  Telemaclios'  movements,  of  the 
suitors'  banquets,  and  finally  of  the  great 
massacre,  many  architectural  details  are  in- 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY         1 63 

cidentally  given.  So  judicious  a  scholar  as 
Professor  Jebb  joins  in  the  attempt  to  piece 
these  together  into  a  scientific  restoration  of 
the  prehistoric  Greek  country-house.  The 
results  do  not  seem  very  fruitful  or  well 
assured.  But  such  studies  are  stimulated 
and  aided  by  the  brilliant  discoveries  of 
early  architecture  in  Tiryns,  Mykense,  Troy, 
and  elsewhere.  They  are  certainly  wiser 
and  safer  than  any  attempt  to  illustrate  pre- 
historic customs  or  manners  from  the  scenes 
of  these  books.  Thus,  on  three  different  oc- 
casions a  handy  missile  is  thrown  at  the  sup- 
posed beggar,  Odysseus :  Book  XVII.  462, 
a  stool,  which  hits  his  shoulder ;  XVIII.  394, 
another  footstool,  which  misses  him,  but 
hits  the  cupbearer;  XX.  299,  an  ox-foot, 
which  is  dodged,  and  strikes  the  wall.  This 
is  an  illustration  —  of  what  ?  Surely,  only 
of  drunken  and  lawless  manners  every- 
where ;  though  it  also  serves  to  harden  Odys- 
seus' heart  against  all  thought  of  mercy, 
and  perhaps  has  a  grim  irony  as  we  think 
of  the  deadlier  missiles  which  will  so  soon 
hurtle  through  the  shadowy  hall  in  return. 
But  a  loftier  tragic  tone  is  felt  through 


164      ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

the  twenty-second  book  in  particular, 
wherein  the  slaughter  of  the  suitors  is 
accomplished.  Only  the  minstrel  and  the 
herald,  who  had  served  in  the  hall  under 
compulsion,  are  spared.  The  unfaithful 
maid  servants,  whom  the  suitors  had  be- 
guiled, are  made  to  clear  the  hall  of  their 
lovers'  bodies,  and  then  are  hung,  all  a-row, 
in  the  courtyard  !  Such  are  the  tidings  that 
are  brought  by  the  old  nurse,  Eurycleia, 
to  Penelope  upon  her  waking.  That  she 
is  long  incredulous,  and  also  proves  the 
stranger,  craftily,  before  she  believes  him 
to  be  her  long-absent  lord,  troubles  Telem- 
achos,  and  has  offended  some  commen- 
tators ;  but  it  only  wins  a  smile  from  the 
man  of  many  wiles  himself,  who  has  evi- 
dently chosen  wisely  a  wife  after  his  own 
heart. 

It  is  in  this  palace,  where  the  groans  of 
the  dying  suitors  have  hardly  died  away, 
that  Odysseus  receives  again  into  his  arms, 
after  twenty  years'  separation,  the  wife  of 
his  youth.  A  iDathetic  touch  is  the  men- 
tion of  Teiresias'  prophecy,  indicating  that 
long  wanderings  still  remain    before    the 


THE   PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY        1 65 

brief  space  of  peaceful  old  age  which  is  to 
close  the  storm-tossed  heroic  life.  Even 
now  his  rest  is  troubled  by  a  weighty  care  : 
the  death-feud  with  the  kin  of  the  slain 
suitors.  Odysseus  cannot  refrain  from  men- 
tioning this,  also,  in  Penelope's  hearing,  to 
the  boyish  son  whom  this  day's  work  has 
made  a  man  and  a  warrior. 

"Even  he  who  has  slain  but  a  single  man 

in  the  country. 
Though  he  have  left  not  many  thereafter  to 

be  his  avengers, 
Flees  into  exile,  leaving  his  kin   and  the 

land  of  his  fathers. 
We  have  slain  these  youths,  who   by  far 

were  in  Ithaca  noblest ; 
They  were  the  stay  of  the  city  :  and  this  I 

bid  thee  consider  !  " 

(Od.  XXIII.  118-122.) 

Odysseus  evidently  realizes  that  he  has 
a  worse  than  Corsican  vendetta  to  face. 
Telemachos'  reply  naturally  expresses  the 
fullest  confidence  in  his  father's  resources. 
We  would  gladly  have  heard  an  added 
word  of  confidence  in  the  divine  aid,  which 
Pallas  should  have  taught  him  ere  now. 


1 66      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

With  the  close  of  this  day  the  ancient 
Alexandrian  critics  believed  tliat  the  genuine 
Odyssey  ended.  But  Mr.  Lang  is  no  doubt 
right  in  reminding  us  emphatically  that  no 
hearer  in  the  heroic  age  could  have  been 
content  unless  a  solution  for  the  feud  of 
blood  was  added.  This  is  more  convincing 
than  his  similar  assertion  that  the  poet 
of  the  Hiad  could  not  have  left  Hector 
unburied.  Artistically,  however,  anything 
that  follows  the  death  of  the  wooers  and 
the  happy  reunion  of  the  royal  pair  must 
seem  to  us  an  anti-climax.  Furthermore, 
our  attention  is  unexpectedly  distracted 
by  the  form  which  this  continuation,  the 
present  twenty-fourth  book,  actually  takes. 
There  are,  in  fact,  three  nearly  distinct 
pictures  making  up  this  closing  canto. 

First,  the  scene  is  transferred,  without 
warning,  to  the  underworld  once  more,  and 
we  overhear  a  conversation  between  the 
ghosts  of  Agamemnon  and  Achilles.  The 
latter,  for  some  reason  not  indicated,  now 
hears  for  the  first  time  the  story  of  his 
own  funeral  in  the  Troad.  It  is  a  stately 
pageant  that  is   here   described,   and    the 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY         l6j 

glimpse  accorded  us  of  the  lovely  Thetis 
and  her  great  grief  alone  rewards  us  for 
its  perusal.  But  this  is  a  strange  place  in 
which  to  find  it.  It  could  certainly  have  been 
made  more  effective  in  the  eleventh  book. 

Then  follows  Odysseus'  visit  with  Telem- 
achos  to  the  upland  farm,  and  the  loving 
recognition  of  him  by  his  old  father  and 
the  thralls.  Part  of  this,  again,  is  noble 
poetry,  and  we  cannot  feel  that  it  is  pre- 
cisely out  of  place,  though  we  certainly  do 
not  feel  that  it  is  essential  to  the  epic  plot. 
It  is,  rather,  like  a  sentimental  one-act 
drama  or  idyl  by  itself. 

Lastly,  the  kin  of  the  slain  take  to  arms, 
and  are  seen  approaching  the  farm.  Old 
Laertes  determines  to  "tilt  it  out  among 
the  lads,"  and  is  not,  like  the  father  of 
Tennyson's  prince,  dissuaded  therefrom. 
A  remark  of  his  is  really  the  one  stirring 
word  in  the  scene  :  — 

"Now  what  a  day  is  this,  dear  gods!    I 

truly  am  happy, 
Seeing  my  son  and  my  son's  son  vie  with 

each  other  in  valour  ! ' ' 

(Od.  XXIV.  514,  515.) 


i68     AKT  a:sd  huma^'ity  in  homer 

The  passage  reminds  us  vaguely  of  the 
pictures,  popular  a  few  years  ago,  repre- 
senting four  generations  of  German  im- 
perial stock.  Laertes  is  the  only  one  who 
kills  his  man.  The  victim  is  the  leader  of 
the  avengers,  and  father  of  the  most  in- 
solent among  the  suitors.  Then  Zeus  stays 
the  skirmish  with  a  thunderbolt,  and  we 
are  told  in  curt  words  that  Pallas  Athene 
reconciled  the  feud,  at  her  father's  bid- 
ding, taking  on  therefor  the  guise  of 
mortal  Mentor.  But  not  one  word  of 
hers  is  actually  reported,  and  the  book 
ends  tamely  ;  even,  as  it  seems,  hastily  and 
lamely. 

Perhaps,  as  Mr.  Lang  says,  such  a  divine 
intervention  was  about  the  only  solution 
possible,  at  least  without  further  waste  of 
life.  But  if  the  master  poet  of  the  Odyssey 
composed  the  last  two  hundred  lines  in 
their  present  form,  he  was  very  weary, 
either  of  his  art  altogether  or  else  of  this 
theme.  There  are  few  even  of  the  great- 
est artists  who  understand  the  divine  art 
of  leaving  off  betimes.    Perhaps  the  most 


THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ODYSSEY         1 69 

effective  verse  in   all  Dante  is  that  quiet 
word  of  Francesca :  — 

"  Quel  giorno  piu  non  vi  leggemmo  avanti." 

Something  may  always  be  left  to  the  im- 
agination of  the  sympathetic  reader. 

But  as  we  look  back  upon  the  whole 
mass  of  Greek  epic,  upon  the  Iliad  and 
the  Odyssey  together,  how  complete,  and 
how  magnificent,  is  the  picture  which  they 
create !  We  must,  I  think,  concede  the 
truth  of  one  of  the  boldest  assertions  made 
by  the  brilliant  and  canny  Scot  who  is  so 
often  quoted,  and  still  oftener  drawn  upon, 
in  this  essay :  If  we  were  forced  to  lose 
either  Homer  or  all  Greek  literature  beside, 
we  should  hesitate  as  long  as  possible  ;  but 
at  last  we  should  cling  to  Homer,  who  an- 
ticipates so  much  that  is  best  in  all  the 
other  Hellenic  poets,  and  whose  world  seems 
to  have  a  completeness  and  a  perfect  beauty 
of  its  own  to  which  its  very  remoteness 
adds  a  final  charm. 

"Why    floats    the    amaranth    in    eternal 
bloom 
O'er  Ilium's  turrets  and  Achilles'  tomb  ? 


170       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Why  lingers  fancy  where  the  sunbeams 

smile 
On  Circe's  gardens  and  Calypso's  isle  ? 
Why  follows  memory  to  the  gate  of  Troy 
Her  plumed  defender  and  his  trembling 

boy  ?  " 

The  truest  answer  to  his  own  question  Dr. 
Holmes  himself  gives  in  another  connec- 
tion :  — 

"The  classic  days,  those  mothers  of  ro- 
mance, 
That  roused  a  nation  for  a  woman's  glance; 
The  age  of  mystery  with  its  hoarded  power, 

Have   past  and  faded  like   a  dream  of 
youth." 

And  these  tragic  yet  sweetest  memories  of 
the  world's  lost  youth  are  bound  up  forever 
under  the  rubric  that  bears  the  doubted  and 
denied,  yet  ever  glorious  name  of  Homer. 


V 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD 

^HE  clear  voices  of  inspired  poets  and 
-'-  philosophers  come  to  us  like  the  cries 
of  the  warders  high  above  us  on  the  watch- 
towers  of  life.  In  the  dust  and  turmoil  of 
daily  existence,  we  perchance  forget  to  ask 
ourselves  what  are  the  real  goals  toward 
which  our  efforts  tend.  Every  true  poet 
answers  humanity's  cry  :  — 

"  To  tell  the  purport  of  our  pain, 
And  what  our  silly  joys  contain, 
Come,  poet,  come  !" 

It  is  a  lingering  instinct,  also,  which  men 
might  be  saddened  wholly  to  relinquish, 
that  these  same  lofty  watchers  may,  per- 
haps, catch  a  clearer  glimpse  than  we,  even 
of  that  which  is  within  the  veil.  We  may 
be  tempted  to  cry  to  them,  as  dear  faces 
vanish  from  our  side  :  — 
171 


172      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

"  Where  are  now  those  silent  hosts  ? 
Where  the  camping-ground  of  ghosts?" 

^schylos'  Darius,  Virgil's  Anchises,  Ham- 
let's ghostly  father,  speak,  as  it  were,  in  a 
voice  deeper  than  the  poet's  own,  of  the 
abode  from  which  they  have  issued. 

In  recaUing  the  conceptions  of  the  future 
life  which  the  Homeric  epics  shadow  forth, 
we  may  make  an  especial  effort  to  solicit  their 
answers  to  a  question  which  almost  every 
man  sometimes  asks  himself :  Do  our  dead 
know  what  is  occurring  in  this  world  ? 

In  the  crowded  battle  scenes  of  the  Iliad 
there  is  hardly  an  instant  to  think  of  the 
dead.     When  a  warrior  fell. 

The  soul,  at  the  wound  that  was  stricken. 
Darted  hastily  forth,  as  the  darkness  cov- 
ered his  eyelids, 

(II.  XIV.  518,  519.) 

and  straightway 

Leaving  his  limbs,  to  the  dwelling  of  Hades 

his  soul  had  departed. 
Sorrowing  over  his  doom,  so  bereft  of  his 

youth  and  his  vigour. 

(II.  XVII.  85G,  857.) 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD        1 73 

As  the  youthful  hero  Achilles  rides  forth 
to  his  last  great  victory,  he  clearly  sees  the 
black  shadow  of  his  own  death  across  the 
pathway  ;  but  when  even  his  steed  is  en- 
dowed with  speech  to  give  him  a  final  warn- 
ing, he  only  silences  sternly  the  loving  voice 
of  prophecy,  and  plunges  the  more  fiercely 
into  the  fray. 

' '  Why  f  oretellest  thou,  Xanthos,  my  death  ? 
It  in  nowise  is  fitting. 

Well  do  I  know  of  myself  that  I  here  am 
appointed  to  perish, 

Far  from  my  mother  and  father  beloved : 
yet  surely  I  therefore 

Never  will  cease,  till  I  give  to  the  Trojans 
surfeit  of  battle." 

Speaking,  he  urged  with  a  shout  his  hard- 
hoofed  horses  to  vanward. 

(II.  XIX.  420-424.) 

When  we  catch  any  glimpses  of  a  future 
existence,  they  are  but  the  crudest  fancies 
of  a  savage,  fearless,  yet  life-loving  race  of 
warriors.  The  dead  must  share  the  delight 
in  prompt  vengeance  wreaked  upon  the  foe. 

"Verily   not  unavenged   is  Asios    lying: 
and  even 


174      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IX    HOMER 

While  he  to  Hades  fareth,  the  "Warder  stern 

of  the  portal, 
He  in  his  heart  shall  exult,  because  I  have 

sent  him  an  escort ! " 

(II.  Xin.  414-416.) 

Food,  animals,  and  captives,  are  sacri- 
ficed upon  the  funeral  pyre,  as  if  earthly 
needs,  and  perhaps  even  the  mastery  of 
slaves,  might  continue  in  the  land  of 
shadows.  Our  chief  passage  on  this  point 
is  Patroclos'  funeral  (II.  XXIII.  170,  etc.). 

The  body,  not  the  fleeting  soul,  is  oftenest 
spoken  of  as  the  man  himself :  notably  in 
the  very  opening  lines  of  the  Iliad  :  — 

Many  a  hero's  soul  was  hurried  untimely  to 

Hades  : 
They  themselves  were   rendered  the  booty 

of  dogs  and  of  vultures.  .  .  . 

Hades  has  not  yet  received  his  epithet  of 
Pluto  (lord  of  wealth),  but  is,  naturally 
enough,  the  unpitying,  inexorable  tyrant, 
most  detested  of  all  divinities. 

.  .  .  Not   to  be  moved,   and  merciless, 
truly,  is  Hades  : 
Therefore  among  all  gods  is  he  most  hated 
of  mortals.  (II.  IX.  158,  159.) 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD        1 75 

In  the  pause  of  the  action  around  Patro- 
clos  slain,  there  is  for  the  first  time  space 
upon  the  scene  for  the  soul  of  the  departed. 
If  the  phrase  be  not  too  modern,  we  may  say- 
that  Achilles  is  chastened  by  suffering,  and 
learns  in  his  bereavement  and  grief  to  think 
more  deeply  and  earnestly  of  the  future. 
As  he  lay  heavily  sleeping,  in  the  night  after 
the  slaying  of  Hector,  upon  the  lonely  shore, 

Then  unto  him   there  came  the  soul  of 

unhappy  Patroclos, 
Like  in  every  way  to  himself  when  living, 

in  stature, 
Eyes,  and  voice,   and  even  the  garb  that 

covered  his  body. 
Over  his  head  he  took  his  stand,  and  thus 

he  addrest  him  : 
"Art  thou  asleep,  and  wert  thou  forgetful 

of  me,  0  Achilles, 
Now  that  I  am  dead,  who  in  life  wast  never 

neglectful  ? 
Bury  me  now,  in  haste,  that  I  pass  by  the 

portal  of  Hades. ' 
Now  am  I  banished  afar  by  the  souls,  the 

ghosts  of  the  perished. 
They  forbid  me  beyond  the  River  among 

them  to  mingle. 


176      ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

Vainly  I  wander  about  by  the  wide-wayed 

dwelling  of  Hades. 
Give  me,  I  pray  thee  in  sorrow,  thy  hand : 

for  again  from  the  Unseen 
Never  may  I  return,  when  of  fire  my  meed 

thou  accordest. 
Never  as  living  men  may  we  sit,  apart  from 

our  comrades, 
Weaving  our  counsel :  for  me  hath  yawned 

that  destiny  grievous 
Which  at  the  very  hour  of  my  birth  for  me 

was  appointed. 
Even  for  you,  0  Achilles  like  to  the  gods,  it 

is  fated 
Here  to  meet  your  death,  by  the  wall  of  the 

valorous  Trojans. 
Let  my  bones  be  laid  not  apart  from  thine, 

0  Achilles, 
But  together,  as  we  together  were  reared  in 

the  palace.  .  .  . 
So  may  the  bones  of  us  twain  in  a  single 

coffer  be  hidden.  ..." 

(H.  XXIII.  65-91.) 

The  passage  is  full  of  suggestions.  The 
shape  of  Patroclos,  we  learn,  is  still  the 
same  as  in  life.  His  love  is  unaltered  ;  his 
eagerness  to  share  even  the  urn  that  hides 
Achilles'   bones  is   a  powerful   tribute  to 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD        1 77 

friendship.  Especially  pitiful  is  it,  that  he 
fancies  he  can  still  clasp  the  hand  of  the 
living.  Patroclos  —  that  is,  his  poet  —  is 
a  fatalist.  Man's  doom  is  fixed  from  his 
birth.  (A  similar  utterance  of  Hector 
will  be  remembered.)  Patroclos'  prophetic 
knowledge  of  Achilles'  death  is  an  enlarge- 
ment of  his  living  powers.  The  surviving 
friend  is  astonished,  even  in  his  dream,  at 
his  friend's  return,  but  promises  obedience 
in  all,  adding :  — 

"Yet  draw  closer  to  me,  till  so  for  a  mo- 
ment embracing 

Each  the  other,  we  sate  ourselves  with  bit- 
ter lamenting." 

Even  as  thus  he  spoke,  his  affectionate  arms 
he  extended, 

Yet  did  he  clasp  him  not :  but  under  the 
earth  like  a  smoke-wraith 

Wailing  hurried  the  soul. 

In  amaze  updarted  Achilles, 

Smote  together  his  hands,  and  thus  did  he 
speak  in  his  sorrow, 

"Ah  me  !     So  then  even  in  Hades'  dwell- 
ing remaineth 

Still  the  soul  and  phantom  :  but  bodily  life 
is  departed. 


178      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

All  night  long  at  my  side  did  the  soul  of 

unhappy  Patroclos 
Stand.  ..."  {Ihid.  97-106.) 

Achilles,  then,  who  perhaps  until  now  had 
hardly  given  an  earnest  thought  thereto, 
gains  from  this  vision  a  conviction  that 
there  is  indeed  a  life  beyond  death. 

This  visit  of  Patroclos,  however,  was 
possible  only  because  the  funeral  rites  are 
yet  incomplete.  When  once  his  body  is 
burned,  the  soul  will  cross  the  river,  and 
revisit  the  living  no  more.  (^Charon  seems 
to  be  a  post-Homeric  figure ;  cf.  Eustathios, 
166,  6.  36,  and  Pausanias,  X.  28.  2,  who 
quotes  the  earliest  mention  of  Charon  known, 
from  the  post-Homeric  "  Minyas.") 

Whether  Patroclos  will  still  be  aware, 
in  the  spirit  world,  of  what  is  passing  on 
earth,  Achilles  does  not  know,  nor  does 
the  poet,  apparently.  When  the  body  of 
Hector  is  surrendered  for  burial,  at  Priam's 
entreaty,  Achilles  apostrophizes  his  lost 
friend :  — 

"Be  not  wroth,  O  Patroclos,  at  me,  if,  in 
Hades  abiding. 


THE    HOMEKIC    UNDERWORLD        1 79 

Thou  shalt  learn  that  I  have  rendered  illus- 
trious Hector 

Back  to  his  loving  father:  for  fitting  the 
ransom  he  offered, 

Wherefrom  I  upon  thee  will  bestow  such 
share  as  is  seemly." 

(II.  XXIV.  593-595.) 

Perhaps  the  mere  fact  of  Hector's  arrival 
beyond  the  River  will  convey  the  knowledge 
to  Patroclos.  No  response  to  this  appeal 
ever  comes  to  Achilles,  and  the  pages  of  the 
Iliad  tell  us  nothing  more  as  to  his  friend's 
condition  or  knowledge  in  the  other  life. 

The  chief  Homeric  passages  in  regard  to 
the  world  of  the  dead,  however,  occur  in 
the  Odyssey.  The  connection  of  Odysseus' 
voyage  to  Hades  with  the  general  plot  of 
the  poem  was  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter. 
Circe  sends  Odysseus  thither,  to  consult 
the  blind  prophet  Teiresias,  who  there,  as 
on  earth,  is  the  only  one  who  truly  sees, 
with  the  eyes  of  wisdom  and  prophecy. 
That  is,  he  is  a  prophet  not  because  he  is 
dead,  but  in  spite  of  being  dead.  And  to 
Circe's  isle  the  Ithacan  with  his  crew  returns. 


l80      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

This  is  the  strangest,  and  the  remotest, 
of  all  the  adventures  with  which  the  hero 
regaled  the  Phseacian  banqueters.  On  other 
occasions  the  truth  hardly  falls  from  Odys- 
seus' lips  unmixed  with  cunning  falsehoods. 
As  Virgil  dismisses  ^neas  from  the  under- 
world through  the  ivory  gate,  the  portal 
of  untruthful  visions,  so  modern  men  may 
prefer  to  read  the  voyage  to  Kimmeria 
merely  as  the  romancing  Tale  of  an  An- 
cient Mariner. 

The  old  sailor  voices  our  own  surprise 
at  the  very  first  mention  of  the  subject. 
When  Circe  commands  the  dread  pilgrim- 
age, he  exclaims  in  terrified  astonishment :  — 

"Who,  I  pray  thee,  O   Circe,  upon  this 
voyage  may  guide  us  ? 

Never  a  man  ere  this  in  a  black  ship  jour- 
neyed to  Hades !  " 

(Od.  X.  501,  502.) 

We  did  not  expect  to  seek  the  spirit  world 
beyond  the  sea.  The  conception  of  a  Hades 
beneath  our  feet  had  been  made  familiar  to 
us  by  one  of  the  most  striking  passages  in 
the  Iliad.  In  a  fierce  battle  scene,  in  which 
the  gods  also  take  part.  Homer  declares :  — 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD        l8l 

Then  Aidoneus,  monarch  of  those  below, 

was  affrighted. 
Startled,  he  leaped  from   his  throne  and 

shouted,  for  fear  that  above  him 
Cloven  the  world  should  be  by  the  stout 

earth-shaker,  Poseidon. 
So  unveiling  his  realm  to  the  eyes  of  men 

and  immortals : 
—  Ghastly,  afar  extended,  that  even  of  gods 

is  detested  !  (II.  XX.  61-65.) 

There  is  also  a  solemn  form  of  invocation 
used  in  oaths,  which  sounds  as  if  it  was, 
even  in  the  poet's  day,  an  ancient  tradi- 
tional formula.  In  it  Aidoneus  and  Per- 
sephone are  thus  referred  to :  — 

Thou,  0  Sun,  who  all  things  seest,  and 

everything  hearest, 
Rivers  also,  and  Earth,  and  ye,  the  twain 

that  beneath  us 
Punish  the  forceless  men,  whoso  have  sworn 

to  a  falsehood.  (II.  I.  277-279.) 

Is  Persephone's  meadow  of  asphodel,  then, 
on  the  earth's  surface,  or  beneath  it  ?  The 
difficulty  is  a  real  one.  It  has  usually  met 
with  an  explanation  which  is  not  a  solution 
at  all ;  viz. ,  that  Homer,   or  the  various 


162      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IX    HOMER 

authors  of  the  poems,  had  two  worlds  of 
the  dead,  or  two  conceptions  as  to  the  abode 
of  the  departed,  and  either  never  noticed  the 
inconsistency  in  the  two  sets  of  allusions, 
or  at  any  rate  never  made  any  attempt  to 
harmonize  them. 

Dr.  Warren's  theory  is  fully  expounded  in 
his  learned  book,  Paradise  Found.  Accord- 
ing to  him.  Homer  conceived  the  world  as  a 
globe,  inhabited  only  in  the  northern  hemi- 
sphere. Okeanos,  or  the  Kiver  of  Ocean,  is 
a  circular  current,  belting  the  globe  like  the 
torrid  zone  of  modern  charts,  though  not 
so  wide.  Across  this  stream  Odysseus  sails 
to  Kimmeria,  on  the  southern  or  under  side 
of  the  earth,  and  so  actually  under  us,  as 
Australia  is  under  us,  yet  still  upon  the 
surface  of  our  world. 

This  is  not  wholly  unlike  the  Dantesque 
conception  of  Purgatory.  Dante's  Inferno 
is  a  funnel,  beginning  just  under  Jerusalem, 
and  gradually  narrowing  to  the  centre  of 
the  earth,  where  Lucifer  is  forever  held  fast. 
At  the  time  when  Lucifer's  fall  created  this 
funnel,  an  exactly  similar  cone  of  earth  was 
forced  out  at  the  antipodes,  thus  forming 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD        1 83 

the  lofty  Purgatorial  mountain.  The  swift 
voyage  of  Dante's  saved  sinners,  from  Tiber's 
mouth  to  the  shore  of  this  far  southern  hill, 
reminds  us — though  it  is  probably  a  purely 
accidental  coincidence  —  of  the  quick  pas- 
sage from  Circe's  isle  to  the  dim  shore  of 
Kimmeria.  Homer  plainly  says  that  the 
north  wind  is  to  bear  them  thither.  In 
fact,  Dr.  Warren's  hypothesis  accounts  for 
the  statements  of  Homer  more  clearly  than 
any  other,  —  if  other  there  be.  In  my  own 
mind  I  vacillate  between  accepting  it,  and 
incredulity  as  to  Homer's  having  any  clear 
geometrical  ideas  and  theories  at  all.  Dr. 
Warren  bases  his  arguments  upon  his  firm 
belief  in  an  original,  full,  divine  revelation 
of  cosmic  truth  to  man.  Fragments  of  this 
forfeited  truth,  gradually  dimmed  and  dis- 
torted with  lapse  of  time,  are  traceable,  he 
believes,  in  the  earliest  traditions  and  myths 
of  many  races.  But  President  Warren's 
Homeric  theories  do  not,  necessarily,  stand 
and  fall  with  his  creed  of  an  original  Eden, 
and  of  primeval  wisdom  granted  to  man 
far  surpassing  all  our  modern  knowledge. 
Upon  the  farther  shore  of  ocean  Odys- 


184      ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

seus  digs  a  sliallow  trench,  and  fills  it  with 
honey,  milk,  wine,  water,  and  the  blood  of 
sacrificed  sheep.  This  is  the  ordinary  food 
in  life,  and  needed  here  to  give  the  ghosts 
strength  to  know  Odysseus  and  to  speak 
audibly.  Odysseus  holds  converse  with 
them  in  turn,  across  the  trench. 

A  foolish  young  companion  of  Odysseus, 
Elpenor  by  name,  had  broken  his  neck  by 
a  fall,  when  half-drunk,  from  Circe's  palace 
roof  just  before  Odysseus  started.  His  soul 
had  preceded  his  comrades  on  their  rushing 
voyage.  He  is  first  to  address  them.  This 
he  can  do,  even  without  drinking  from  the 
trench,  because,  as  in  the  case  of  Patroclos, 
his  body  still  lies  unburied.  Old  Bishop 
Eustathios,  wordiest  of  commentators,  re- 
marks that  Elpenor  is  foolish  in  death  as 
in  life,  demanding  that  Odysseus  return  to 
^sea  and  erect  for  him  a  funeral  mound 
on  the  shore  of  that  utterly  untravelled  sea ! 
Odysseus  agrees,  very  curtly,  to  this  un- 
reasonable and  useless  task.  The  artistic 
purpose  in  this  episode  is,  no  doubt,  to 
emphasize  the  rapidity  of  the  soul's  passage 
to  Plades. 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD         1 85 

Next,  the  ghost  of  the  hero's  mother 
chances  to  hover  near,  unconscious  of  her 
son's  presence.  Though  he  weeps  piteous 
tears  at  the  sight,  he  holds  lier,  like  the  rest 
aloof  from  the  trench,  as  he  is  bidden,  until 
Teiresias  first  approaches.  Even  he  fears 
the  hero's  drawn  sword,  and  dares  not  quaff 
at  the  trenchside  until  it  is  safely  sheathed. 
Then  the  dark  blood  revives  his  strength, 
and  he  tells  Odysseus  in  outline  all  his 
future  adventures,  not  merely  those  of  his 
home-coming,  but  the  long  later  wanderings, 
his  brief  peaceful  old  age,  and  the  death  that 
shall  come  to  him  "  out  of  the  waters."  This 
is  the  prophecy  which  Odysseus  repeated, 
as  will  be  remembered,  to  Penelope. 

Then  Odysseus  asks  the  seer  how  his 
mother  may  know  him,  and  is  told  that 
she  must  be  permitted  to  drink  at  thetrencb. 

"  Then  did  my  mother 
Come  and  drink  of  the  darksome  blood, 

and  instantly  knew  me. 
Sorrowing   then    with    winged    words   she 

spoke  and  addressed  me : 
How  have  you  come,  my  child,  down  under 

the  shadowy  darkness, 


l86      ART    AND    HLMANITY    IN    HOMER 

You,  who  still  are  alive  ?     'Tis  a  terrible 

sight  for  the  living. 
Are  you  but  just  come  hither,  as  you  from 

the  Troad  have  wandered 
Long  with  your  vessel  and  comrades  ?    And 

Ithaca  did  you  not  visit  ? 
Have  you  not  seen  as  yet  the  wife  who 

dwells  in  your  palace  ?  " 

(Od.  XI.  152-162.) 

This  passage  may  fairly  be  said  to  answer, 
so  far  as  Homer  is  concerned,  our  question 
as  to  the  knowledge  possessed  by  the  de- 
parted. If  any  love  can  bridge  the  gulf  of 
worlds,  and  see  through  the  veil  of  death,  it 
must  surely  be  the  love  of  motherhood. 
Yet  she  does  not  even  know  her  living  son, 
until  the  natural  feebleness  of  her  ghost- 
nature  is  re-enforced  by  the  draught  of 
blood :  and  then  her  first  words  show  that 
she  has  known  nothing  of  his  adventures 
since  they  parted.  To  be  sure,  she  answers 
his  inquiries  about  affairs  in  Ithaca  with 
full  knowledge.  But  that  need  only  show 
that  she  has  recently  died.  Her  husband, 
old  Laertes,  is  still  living  in  a  hale  old  age 
when  Odysseus  reaches  Ithaca  again,  some 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD        1 8/ 

eight  years  later.  The  niother  had  phied 
away,  she  tells  him,  purely  for  longing  to 
see  him,  her  absent  son. 

Here  the  motif  of  the  Iliad  is  repeated 
with  a  deeper  pathos,  when  Odysseus  thrice 
attempts  in  vain  to  clasp  his  mother's  form, 
and  cries  out 

"  Mother  mine,  why  tarry  you  not  as  I  long 
to  embrace  you  ?  » 

So  were  we  clasped  in  the  arms  of  each 
other,  even  in  Hades  : 

Then  might  both  of  us  sate  our  thirst  for 
bitter  lamenting ! 

Or  but  a  phantom  alone  has  lofty  Per- 
sephone sent  me  ?"    {lUd.  210-213.) 

But  the  mother  assures  him  :  — 

"Xay  but  this  is  the  nature  of   mortals, 

when  they  have  perished. 
Flesh  no  longer,  and  bones,  are  held  by  the 

sinews  together. 
They  by  the  forceful  might  of  the  flaming 

fire  are  vanquished, 
Even  as  soon  as  the  breath  from  the  white 

bones  takes  its  departure. 
Then  as  a  dream  man's  soul  goes  fluttering 

forth,  and  has  vanished." 

(^Ibid.  218-222.) 


1 88      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

Even  the  shades  of  the  greatest  heroes 
are  equally  helpless.  Agamemnon,  lord  of 
men,  must  drink  of  the  blood  before  he  can 
recognize  his  old  comrade,  and  then  he  too 
makes  a  vain  attempt  to  embrace  him,  Aga- 
memnon asks  after  his  only  son,  adding  :  — 

' '  Not  yet,  surely,   on  earth  has  perished 
royal   Orestes."  (Ibid.  ^Ql.) 

Perhaps  this  confidence  is  simply  because 
the  young  prince  has  not  joined  his  kin  in 
Hades ;  for  Agamemnon  is  wandering  about 
sorrowfully,  in  the  company  of  those  slain 
with  him  by  his  treacherous  wife  on  the 
day  of  his  home-coming.  Of  the  son  Odys- 
seus can  tell  him  nothing. 

The  most  famous  episode  in  this  book, 
however,  is  the  conversation  with  the  ghost 
of  Achilles,  Seeing  him  approach,  still  sur- 
rounded by  his  illustrious  friends, — Ajax 
and  Patroclos  and  Nestor's  son  Antilochos, 
— Odysseus  hails  him  as  one  honoured  like  a 
god  in  life,  and  still  a  mighty  ruler  among 
the  shades.     But  Achilles  replies :  — 

"Speak  not  comforting  words  of  death,  0 
noble  Odysseus. 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD        1 89 

Verily  I  would  choose  to  live  as  the  serf  of 

another, 
Even  a  needy  man,  who  had  but  a  scanty 

subsistence, 
Than  to  be  sovereign  here  of  all  who  are 

dead  and  departed." 

{Ibid.  488-491.) 

He,  too,  asks  after  his  son,  and  also  as  to 
the  aged  father  in  whose  name  Priam  had 
appealed  to  his  pity  after  Hector's  [death. 
And  our  last  glimpse  of  him  is  as  he 

Passes  with  mighty  strides  across  the  as- 
phodel meadow, 

Happy  because  I  had  called  his  son  an  illus- 
trious warrior.  {P)id.  539-540.) 

The  latter  portion  of  the  eleventh  book, 
describing  the  punishment  of  Tantalos,  Sisy- 
phos,  and  other  mythic  heroes  of  a  still 
earlier  age,  is  generally  believed  to  be  an 
addition  by  a  later  hand,  and  is  certainly 
not  easily  harmonized  with  the  picture  of 
Odysseus  sitting  beside  the  trench,  com- 
muning with  the  throng  of  flitting  ghosts. 
The  passage  does  not  vitally  modify  our 
general  sketch,  however.  The  most  strik- 
ing figure  in  it  is   Heracles,  who  appears 


190      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

liere  as  a  mere  soulless  eidolon^  since  his 
real  self  —  that  is,  no  doubt,  his  soul,  per- 
haps inhabiting  a  celestial  body  — 

Among  the  immortals  of  Heaven 

Taketh  delight  in  the  feast,  and  to  graceful 

Hebe  is  wedded.         {Ibid.  602-603.) 

It  would  appear  that  ordinarily  the  invisi- 
ble soul,  psyche.,  passing  from  the  dead 
body  to  the  land  of  shades,  was  immedi- 
ately invested  with  an  eidolon.,  a  likeness 
of  its  former  body,  which  could  be  seen 
and  recognized  even  by  living  men.  It  is, 
however,  plain  that  this  existence  was  a 
most  aimless  and  limited  one.  In  spite  of 
Plato's  stern  rebuke  of  this  passage  as  mak- 
ing men  cowardly  in  the  face  of  death,  we 
can  hardly  wonder,  under  such  conditions, 
at  Achilles'  disconsolate  words.  The  pre- 
historic Greeks  were  too  happy  in  life,  too 
closely  attached  to  outward  nature,  too 
fully  in  possession  of  a  harmonious  devel- 
opment of  body  and  mind,  to  form  any  very 
vivid  conception  of  a  continued  existence 
for  the  soul  after  its  departure  from  the 
body.     Indeed  this  statement  would  apply 


THE    HOMERIC    UNDERWORLD        I9I 

almost  as  well  to  the  Athenians,  with  the 
important  exception  of  Plato  himself,  who 
in  this,  as  in  so  much  else,  seems  rather 
under  Oriental  than  Hellenic  influence.  To 
him  the  body  is  indeed  the  prison-house  of 
the  soul. 

The  beginning  of  the  last  book  in  the 
Odyssey  has  been  regarded  by  the  critics, 
from  Aristarchos  down,  as  one  of  the  latest 
additions  to  the  poem.  AVith  the  exception, 
however,  of  a  greater  dignity  imparted  to 
Achilles  and  Agamemnon,  the  scene  does 
not  contradict  the  conception  formed  from 
reading  the  eleventh  book.  It  is  note- 
worthy that  the  difficulty  about  the  loca- 
tion of  the  spirit  world  remains  to  the  last. 
In  the  opening  account  of  the  soul's  pas- 
sage to  Hades  there  is  no  hint  of  a  descent. 

Hermes  the  Helper  along  the  watery  ways 
did  lead  them  : 

Past  Oceanus'  streams  and  the  White  Rock 
now  they  were  hurried. 

Helios'  gate  they  passed,  and  the  land  of 
visions  was  traversed. 

Presently  they  had  entered  within  the  as- 
phodel meadow, 


192      ART   AND   HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

Where  are  abiding  tlie  souls,  the  ghosts  of 
men  that  have  perished. 

(Od.  XXIV.  10-14.) 

Nevertheless  the  closing  words  of  the  scene 
are 

...  So  did  they  speak  to  each  other, 
Standing  in  Hades'  halls  under  earth's  mys- 
terious regions.  {Ibid.  203-204.) 

In  Virgil's  time  the  commoner  conception 
of  an  "  underworld ' '  was  too  fully  fixed,  or 
the  actual  geography  too  well  known,  to 
venture  upon  sending  his  hero  on  such  a 
voyage,  and  accordingly  iEneas  lands  and 
enters  a  cavern.  Dante  found  it  necessary 
to  avoid  altogether  the  question  of  the  act- 
ual point  where  the  underworld  is  entered. 
He  merely  says  :  — 

"I  found  myself  within  a  wood  obscure." 

Thus  farther  and  ever  farther  into  dimmer 
distance  recedes,  as  we  journey  from  the 
dawn,  the  cloud-hung  gate  of  Wonder- 
land 1 


VI 


ODYSSEUS    AND   NAUSICAA 

A  MONG  all  Odysseus'  adventures,  his 
-^  brief  stay  among  the  Phseacians  is 
generally  accepted  as  the  most  interesting. 
Even  more  than  the  other  marvels  of  the 
poem  this  is  felt  to  be  the  happy  invention 
of  a  great  creative  artist.  And  yet,  like 
all  the  truly  original  figures  of  imaginative 
literature,  Nausicaa  is  absolutely  human 
and  full  of  life.  If  there  is  any  allegorical 
or  moral  significance  in  her  story,  or  in 
this  Scherian  episode  generally,  it  has  re- 
mained happily  undiscovered.  There  is  no 
need  of  apology  for  devoting  a  section  of 
our  work  to  this  immortal  child  of  the  poetic 
imagination,  who  is  the  happiest  possible 
illustration  both  of  the  Humanity  and  of 
the  Art  of  Homer. 

For  seven  years  the  loveliest  and  gentlest 
of  divinities,  Calypso,  the  Lady  of  the  Mist, 
o  193 


194      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

has  detained  Odysseus  in  her  fair  wave- 
encircled  isle,  desiring  him  to  be  her  hus- 
band. Yet,  though  all  his  companions  have 
perished  amid  the  miseries  and  dangers  of 
the  former  voyages,  he  still  pines,  day  and 
night,  to  venture  forth  once  more,  to  brave 
the  deadliest  hate  of  the  sea's  lord,  Poseidon, 
if  perchance  he  may  come,  before  he  dies, 
home  again  to  rugged,  ungrateful  Ithaca, 
to  the  faithful,  prudent  Penelope,  who  is, 
he  well  knows,  no  longer  fair  or  young, 
and  who  could  never  have  been  a  rival  of 
Calypso's  divine  loveliness. 

At  last  the  heavenly  gods  have  pity  on 
the  homesick  exile,  and  Zeus  orders  Hermes 
to  go  to  Calypso's  island  abode  and  bid  her 
release  Odysseus. 

Let  us  hear  Zeus'  command  to  Hermes  :  — 

"Hermes,  since  thou  art  also  on  other 
occasion  our  herald. 

Tell  to  the  nymph  of  the  braided  tresses 
our  counsel  unerring. 

Even  the  homeward  return  of  the  patient- 
hearted  Odysseus. 

How  he  shall  go,  unaccompanied  either  of 
gods  or  of  mortals  : 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  I95 

Yet  on  a  well-bound  raft,  though  suffering 

grievous  disaster, 
On  the  twentieth  day  to  the  fertile  land  of 

Phseacians, 
Scheria,  he  shall  come,  to  a  people  like  the 

immortals. 
They  shall  send  him  by  ship  to  his  native 

country  beloved, 
Giving  him  store  of  bronze  and  gold  and 

raiment  in  plenty, 
More  than  ever  Odysseus  had  won  for  him- 
self out  of  Ilios, 
Though  he  had  fared  untroubled,  securing 

his  share  of  the  booty. 
So  it  is  destined  that  he  shall  see  his  loved 

ones,  returning  • 

Unto  his  high-roofed  hall  and  unto  the  land 

of  his  fathers."  (Od.  V.  29-42.) 

Donning  his  winged  sandals  and  clasping 
his  magic  wand,  the  messenger  Hermes  set 
forth  without  a  murmur  upon  his  errand. 
He  darted  earthward,  traversed  the  wide 
purple  sea,  and  neared  the  far-off  island  :  — 

Journeyed  until  he  was  come  where  the 
nymph  of  the  beautiful  tresses 

Lived  in  a  spacious  cave  ;  and  within  her 
dwellino;  he  found  her. 


196      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

There  on  the  hearth  was  a  great  fire  blaz- 
ing, and  far  through  the  island 

Floated  the  fragrance  of  well- cleft  cedar 
and  sandal-wood  burning. 

She  was  herself  within,  with  sweet  voice 
singing,  and  meanwhile 

Busy  was  she  at  the  loom,  and  with  golden 
shuttle  was  weaving, 

Eound  and  about  her  cave  a  luxuriant  forest 
extended ; 

Poplar-trees  were  there,  and  alders,  and 
odorous  cypress. 

.  .  .  Four  springs  set  in  order  with  shining 
water  were  running : 

Near  were  they  to  each  other,  yet  turned  in 
as  many,  directions. 

(These  four  springs  become,  in  the  learned 
argument  of  Dr.  Warren  already  mentioned, 
the  four  rivers  of  Eden.) 

All  about  soft  meadows  of  violets  bloomed, 
and  of  parsley. 

Even  a  deathless  god  might  therefore,  hither 
approaching, 

Gaze  upon  what  he  saw,  and  be  in  spirit  de- 
lighted. {Ibid,  bl-1^.) 

As  the  poet's  last  words  plainly  intimate, 
such  a  trim,  orderly  scene  was  in  truth  the 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  I97 

Greek  ideal  of  natural  beauty,  rather  than 
a  wider,  more  varied  panorama,  with  snow- 
capped mountains  for  its  frame.  Perhaps 
the  struggle  of  man  with  the  savage  forces 
of  Nature  was  still  too  near  and  well  remem- 
bered for  him  to  find  delight  in  her  wilder 
aspects. 

Homer  assures  us  that  the  immortals 
always  know  each  other  when  they  meet, 
no  matter  how  widely  sundered  their 
abodes  ;  but  not  even  in  this  enchanted 
spot  do  they  have  the  power  of  reading 
each  other's  thoughts  without  words. 
Hermes,  therefore,  utters  the  bidding  of 
Zeus,  though  in  gentler  and  less  imperative 
form,  with  a  frank  confession  of  his  own 
unwillingness  to  bring  the  message.  The 
poet  then  continues  :  — 

So  did  he  speak,  and  Calypso,   divine 
among  goddesses,  shuddered. 
Then  she  uttered  to  him  these  winged  words, 
and  made  answer : 
"  Merciless  are  ye,  O  gods,  and  more  than 
the  rest  are  ye  jealous. 
Ye  who,  when  goddesses  openly  mate  with 
men,  are  indignant."    (^Ihid.  116-120.) 


198      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Calypso  relates  briefly  how  she  rescued 
Odysseus  when  the  wind  and  the  billow 
drove  him  toward  her  isle,  clinging  to  the 
keel  of  his  wrecked  vessel  after  all  his 
comrades  had  perished.  Such  passing  allu- 
sions to  the  hero's  previous  adventures  are 
intended  by  the  poet  to  arouse,  rather  than 
to  gratify,  the  curiosity  of  his  hearers. 
Odysseus,  after  his  safe  arrival  at  the  court 
of  the  Phseacians,  will  relate  his  fortunes 
since  the  fall  of  Troy,  just  as  ^neas,  at 
Dido's  banquet,  tells  the  tale  of  his  life. 
Calypso  continues  :  — 

"  Often  I  said  I  would  make  him  immortal 

and  youthful  forever. 
Yet,  for  the  purpose  of  Zeus,  who  is  lord  of 

the  aegis,  may  nowise 
Be  by  another  divinity  thwarted  or  kept 

from  fulfilment. 
Let  him  depart,  since   He  hath  so  com- 
manded and  bidden. 
Over  the  restless  sea.     Nor  yet  myself  will 

I  send  him. 
Since  no  vessels   equipped  with   oars  are 

mine,  nor  companions, 
"Who  on  his  way  might  bear  him  across  the 

sea's  broad  ridges. 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  1 99 

Yet  will  I  heartily  aid  him  with  counsel, 
and  hide  from  him  nothing, 

So  that  he  all  unscathed  may  come  to  the 
land  of  his  fathers." 

{Ihid.  135-144.) 

This  prompt  and  sincere  submission  to 
the  inevitable  parting  should  win  our  sym- 
pathy the  more  fully  for  the  gentle,  loving 
nymph,  who  has  nothing  in  common  with 
capricious  and  cruel  Circe.  As  Hermes 
hastens  back  to  Olympos,  Calypso  seeks 
Odysseus  in  his  favourite  seat  by  the  shore, 
and  bids  him  no  longer  wear  out  his  life 
with  weeping,  but  straightway  built  a  raft 
for  his  homeward  voyage. 

So  did  she  speak,  but  the  godlike,  endur- 
ing Odysseus  shuddered. 

Then  he  uttered  to  her  these  wingM  words, 
and  responded : 
"Surely  some  other  intent,  not  merely 
to  aid  my  departure. 

Hast  thou,  in  bidding  me  cross  on  a  raft 
yon  gulf  of  the  waters, 

Difficult,   dread,  that  not  even  the   well- 
shaped  vessels  may  traverse. 

Though  so  swiftly  they  fare,  in  the  Zeus- 
sent  breezes  exultant. 


200      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Not  on  a  raft  would  I  set  foot  while  thou 

art  unwilling, 
If  thou  consent  not  to  swear  with  a  mighty 

oath  that  in  no  wise 
Thou  wilt  plot  for  me  another  and  grievous 

disaster."  {Ibid.  171-179.) 

Calypso,  smiling  and  caressing  him, 
assures  him  of  her  good  faith.  She  can- 
not, however,  refrain  from  reminding  him 
of  her  own  superiority  in  beauty  to  mor- 
tal women,  and  of  the  immortality  which 
she  would  have  bestowed  upon  him.  The 
reply  of  Odysseus  is  perhaps  more  than 
any  other  passage  the  keynote  of  the 
poem :  — 

"  Queen  and  goddess,  for  that,  pray,  be 

not  wroth,  for  I  also 
Well  am  aware  that  the  heedful  Penelope, 

either  in  stature 
Or  in  beauty   of   face,  is,  compared  with 

thee,  less  noble. 
She  is  a  mortal,  in  truth,  thou  deathless  and 

ageless  forever. 
Yet,  even  so,  I  all  my  days  am  wishful  and 

eager 
Homeward  to  make  my  way,  and  behold 

my  day  of  returning. 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  20I 

If  yet  again  some  god  on  the  wine-dark 

waters  shall  wreck  me, 
I  will  endure,  with  a  heart  in  my  breast 

that  is  patient  of  trouble. 
Truly  already   I  greatly  have  toiled  and 

greatly  have  suffered, 
Both  on  the  waves  and  in  war ;  and  thereto  let 

this  also  be  added."     {Ihid.  215-224.) 

The  next  four  days  are  spent  by  Odysseus 
in  constructing  the  raft,  which  is  elaborately 
described,  and  deserves  rather  to  be  called 
a  boat.  On  the  fifth  day  he  sets  sail,  with 
a  goodly  store  of  wine,  water,  and  food, 
provided  by  Calypso.  For  seventeen  days 
he  voyages  homeward,  but  on  the  eigh- 
teenth Poseidon  espies  him  from  afar.  The 
sea-god's  wrath  is  still  hot  on  account  of  his 
favourite  son,  the  Cyclops  Polyphemos,  who 
was  blinded  by  Odysseus.  A  terrible  storm 
is  aroused,  the  light  craft  is  quickly  stripped 
of  mast  and  sail,  and  Odysseus,  still  cling- 
ing to  the  wreck,  is  tossed  about  helpless 
among  the  billows.  But  a  semi-divine  sea- 
creature  in  feminine  form  comes  to  his  aid. 

Ino,  of  beautiful  ankles,  the  daughter  of 
Kadmos,  beheld  him,  — 


202      ART   AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

Leucothea,  who  once  was  of  human  speech 

and  a  mortal, 
Now  hath  a  share  in  the  honours  of  gods  in 

the  depths  of  the  waters. 

The  mortal  Ino  takes  the  name  Leucothea 
when  transformed  into  a  sea-divinity.  The 
epithet  "  fair-ankled "  is  a  favourite  with 
Homer,  and  is  hardly  introduced  here  to 
assure  us  that  Ino  has  not  the  form  popu- 
larly ascribed  to  a  mermaid. 

She  took  pity  on  exiled  Odysseus  in  griev- 
ous misfortune. 
Out  of  the  watery  deep  she  arose  as  rises  a 

seagull, 
Seated  herself  on  the  well-joined  raft,  and 

spoke,  and  addressed  him : 
"Wretched  one,  why  is  Poseidon,  the 

shaker  of  earth,  thus  embittered 
Fiercely,  so  that  he  raises  against  thee  full 

many  disasters  ? 
Yet  he  shall  not  destroy  thee,  although  so 

terribly  wrathful. 
Only  do  thou  as  I  bid  thee :  thou  seemest 

not  lacking  in  shrewdness. 
Strip  off  thy  garments,  and  leave  thy  raft 

for  the  breezes  to  carry, 
But  do  thou  swim  with  thine  arms,  and 

struggle  to  win  thee  a  landing 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAtJSICAA  20^ 

On  the  Phseacians'  shore,  whereon  thou  art 

destined  to  save  thee. 
Here,  too,  take  this  veil,  and  under  thy 

breast  shalt  thou  spread  it,  — 
It  is  divine, — and  have  no  fear  that  thou 

suffer  or  perish. 
Yet,  so  soon  as  thou  with  thy  hands  shalt 

lay  hold  of  the  mainland, 
Loosen  it  then  from  about  thee,  and  into 

the  wine-dark  waters, 
Ere  thou  turnest  to  go,  thou  shalt  cast  it 

afar  from  the  sea-beach. ' ' 

(Ibid.  333-350.) 

There  is  perhaps  a  reminiscence  of  this  cast- 
ing away  of  the  magic  veil  in  the  tale  of  King 
Arthur's  death,  where  Bedivere  flings  the 
sacred  sword  Excalibar  back  into  the  mere. 

Odysseus  hesitates,  and  is  again  fearful  of 
treachery,  as  he  was  with  Calypso.  It  may 
be  that  this  constant  dread  of  bad  faith  is 
the  fitting  penalty  for  his  own  excessive 
cunning  and  trickiness.  But  when  a  mighty 
billow  utterly  shatters  his  wrecked  craft, 
and  leaves  him  clinging  to  a  single  plank, 
the  aid  of  the  goddess  is  accepted.  Posei- 
don now,  with  an  exultant  jeer,  turns  away, 
as  he  knows  that  Odysseus  is  not  destined 


204      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

to  perish  on  the  sea;  and  Athene  is  per- 
mitted to  qniet  the  waves  and  adverse 
winds.  For  two  days  and  two  nights  the 
hero  swims  wearily  onward,  in  constant 
fear  of  death.  On  the  third  morning,  up- 
lifted on  a  great  wave,  he  sees  the  coast  of 
Phseacia  near  at  hand.  But  here  a  new 
peril  awaits  him.  Once  the  mighty  breaker 
dashes  him  against  the  steep  cliffs  that  line 
the  shore,  but,  carried  back  by  the  refluent 
wave,  he  has  just  strength  to  escape  again 
outside  the  line  of  surf.  Here  he  swims  on 
parallel  with  the  shore-line,  until  he  feels 
the  warmer  current  of  a  river  which  flows 
into  the  sea.  To  the  river-god  he  straight- 
way utters  a  fervent  prayer. 

"Hearken,  0  lord,  whosoever  thou  art! 

unto  thee,  the  much  longed  for, 
Now  am  I  come,  in  my  flight  from  the  sea 

and  the  threats  of  Poseidon, 
Reverend  even  among  the  gods  whose  life 

is  eternal 
He  is  held,  who  comes  as  a  wanderer,  even 

as  I  now, 
After  my  weary  toil,  am  come  to  thy  knees 

and  thy  current. 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  205 

Show  thou  pity,  O  lord  ;  for  truly  thy  sup- 
pliant am  I."  {Ibid.  445-450.) 


Such  passages  as  this  make  it  clear  that  to 
the  Homeric  poets  the  river-god  was  quite 
as  real  as  the  stream  itself.  Perhaps  not 
one  even  among  the  Greeks  of  later  ages, 
save  ^Eschylos  in  the  Prometheus,  is  so 
fully  possessed  by  a  belief  in  this  conscious 
personal  life  in  forest,  mountain,  and  stream. 
There  is  far  greater  power  of  imagination, 
and  many-fold  more  poetic  ingenuity,  exerted 
in  shaping  such  a  conception  as  the  Sabrina 
of  Milton's  Comus ;  but  we  are  so  much  the 
more  aware  of  the  poet's  untiring  efforts  to 
convince  himself  and  us.  The  singer  of  the 
Odyssey  has  no  need  to  "make  believe." 

The  river-god  at  once  stays  his  stream, 
and  enables  the  weary  swimmer  to  reach 
the  bank.  Here,  after  a  moment  of  utter 
exhaustion,  Odysseus  casts  the  veil  sea- 
ward, and  Leucothea's  hands  receive  it: 
the  "  lovely  hands  "  which  lingered  in  Mil- 
ton's memory,  and  so  are  immortalized  a 
second  time  in  a  famous  passage  of  Comus. 
After  some  hesitation  between  the  chilling 


2o6     ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

winds  of  the  shore  and  the  wild  beasts  of 
the  forest,  he  climbs  the  slope  to  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  and  lies  down  in  the  olive 
thicket,  covering  himself  with  the  dead 
leaves. 

And  Athene 
Over  his  eyes  poured  slumber,  that  she  might 

straightway  release  him 
From  the  fatigue  of  his  grievous  toil,  by 

closing  his  eyelids.     {Ibid.  491-493.) 

Such  are  the  final  words  in  the  fifth  book 
of  the  Odyssey.  Sometimes  these  Alexan- 
drian divisions  seem  most  mechanical  and 
inartistic  :  but  the  scenes  of  this  book,  at 
any  rate,  have  a  natural  connection  and 
unity,  as  well  as  a  charm  and  beauty  of 
detail,  which  are  of  course  lost  in  the  mere 
summary  given  here. 

The  scene  now  changes  to  the  palace  of 
the  Phseacian  king,  from  which  is  to  come 
the  aid  so  sorely  needed  by  the  shipwrecked 
exile.  The  sixth  book  opens  with  the  fol- 
lowing lines :  — 

So  did  he  slumber  there,  the  enduring, 
godlike  Odysseus, 


ODYSSEUS    AND   NAUSICAA  20/ 

Since  he   was   overborne    by  fatigue  and 

sleep  ;  but  Athene 
Went  meanwhile  to  the  city  and  people  of 

the  Phffiacians. 
These    had    formerly   dwelt  within  wide- 

w^ayed  Hypereia, 
Near  to  the  Cyclops,  a  race  of  men  exceed- 
ingly haughty, 
Who  had  harassed  them  ever,  and  who  were 

in  force  more  mighty. 
Then  Nausithoos,  like  to  a  god,  transplanted 

and  led  them 
Unto  Scheria,  far  removed  from  the  traffick- 
ing nations. 
Round  their  town  he  constructed  a  wall, 

and  built  habitations ; 
Temples,   too,   for  the   gods,    and  divided 

among  them  the  cornlands. 
Stricken  by  fate,  he  already  had  passed  to 

the  dwelling  of  Hades ; 
Now  Alkinoos  ruled ;  by  the  gods  was  he 

gifted  with  wisdom. 
Toward  his  palace  proceeded  the  gray-eyed 

goddess  Athene, 
Planning  a  homeward  return  for  Odysseus, 

lofty  of  spirit.  (Od.  VI.  1-14.) 

This  brief  historical  sketch  of  the  Phaea- 
cians  need  give  us  no  fear  lest  Odysseus,  in 


208     ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

his  eighteen  days'  voyage  from  Calypso's 
island,  may  have  crossed  the  boundary  line 
from  fairyland  into  prosaic  reality.  Hype- 
reia,  their  former  home,  is  merely  "  Upland," 
a  casual  invention  of  the  poet.  Nausithoos, 
their  earlier  leader,  is  simply  "He  of  the 
fleet  ship";  and,  indeed,  nearly  all  the 
names  we  meet  in  these  Phseacian  scenes 
are  derivatives  from  the  Greek  word  vaOs, 
a  ship.  The  whole  episode  in  Scheria  is, 
apparently,  a  rather  sportive  creation  of 
the  Homeric  fancy.  The  allusion  to  the 
Cyclops  as  their  former  neighbours  is,  no 
doubt,  intended  to  remind  us  that  we  are 
not  yet  escaped  from  the  realm  of  the 
marvellous. 

The  latter  half  of  the  Odyssey  is  of  a 
quite  different  character,  consisting  almost 
wholly  of  realistic  scenes  in  Ithaca.  The 
all-night  homeward  voyage  of  the  sleeping 
Odysseus  on  the  magic  bark  of  the  Phsea- 
cians,  at  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth 
book,  is  the  voyage  from  dreamland  into 
real  life,  and  so  the  turning-point  of  the 
entire  story. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  writer  declines  to 


ODYSSEUS    AND    XAUSICAA  209 

accept  the  identification  of  Corcyra,  the 
modern  Corfu,  with  Scheria.  In  this  scep- 
ticism he  is  emboldened  by  the  protecting 
shield  of  the  Ajax  among  English-speak- 
ing Hellenists.  See  Jebb's  Introduction  to 
Homer,  page  46. 

It  is  at  the  threshold  of  the  episode  in 
Scheria  that  we  meet  the  lovable  little  prin- 
cess Nausicaa,  who  is  our  proper  subject. 
The  frame  of  romance  from  which  she  steps 
forth  to  greet  us  enables  us  to  enjoy  the 
more  fully  the  simplicity,  the  truthfulness  to 
nature,  and  the  idealized  beauty  of  this  slight 
but  imperishable  sketch.  Let  us  venture  to 
peep  discreetly  over  Pallas  Athene's  august 
shoulder,  as  she  enters  her  favourite's  bower. 

Into  a  chamber  most  cunningly  built  she 
passed,  where  a  maiden 

Sleeping  lay,  who  in  figure  and  face  the  im- 
mortals resembled, 

Named  Nausicaa,  child  to  Alkinoos,  lofty  of 
spirit. 

Maidens  twain  were  beside  her,  with  beauty 
endowed  by  the  Graces ; 

Near  to  the  door  they  lay,  and  shut  were  the 
glimmering  portals. 
p 


2IO       ART    AXD    HUMANITY   IX   HOMER 

Fleet  as  the  breatli  of  the  wind  to  the  couch 
of  the  maiden  she  darted. 

{Ihid.  15-20.) 

Athene  assumes  the  guise  of  Nausicaa's 
favourite  girl  companion  as  she  speaks. 

"  Why  did  thy  mother,  Nausicaa,  bear 

thee  a  maiden  so  heedless  ? 
Shining  raiment  is  thine,  which  now  neg- 
lected is  lying ; 
Yet  is  thy  marriage  at  hand,  when  thou 

must  be  fairly  apparelled, 
And  must  garments  give  unto  those  who 

homeward  shall  lead  thee. 
Since  thereby  among  men  goes  forth  thy 

good  reputation. 
Therein,  too,  is  thy  father  delighted,  and 

reverend  mother. 
Come,  with  the  dawning  of  day  let  us  hasten 

forth  to  the  washing. 
Seeing  by  no  means  long  mayst  thou  yet 

tarry  a  virgin. 
Thou  already  art  wooed  by  the  noblest  of 

all  the  Phseacians 
Everywhere,  of  the  land  wherein  thou  also 

art  native. 
Come,  now,  urge  at  the  dawning  of  day  thy 

illustrious  father 


ODYSSEUS    AND   NAUSICAA  211 

Mules  and  a  cart  to  make  ready  for  thee, 

wherein  thou  wilt  carry- 
Raiment  of  men,  and  robes,  and  the  shining 

coverlets  also." 
She,  thus  speaking,  departed,  the  gi-ay-eyed 

goddess  Athene, 
Unto  Olympos,  where  we  are  told  that  the 

gods'  habitation 
Ever  untroubled  abides,  nor  yet  by  the  tem- 
pests is  shaken ; 
Nor  is  it  wet  by  the  rain,  nor  reached  by 

snow,  but  about  it 
Clear  is  the  cloudless  air,  and  white  is  the 

sunshine  upon  it. 
Through  all  ages  within  it  the  blessed  gods 

are  rejoicing. 
Having  admonished  the  maid,  the  keen-eyed 

One  thither  departed .     ( lb  id.  2  5-4  7 . ) 

Among  many  imitations  of  this  passage, 
the  most  familiar  to  us  is,  no  doubt,  the  de- 
scription of  the  "island  valley  of  Avilion," 
to  which  Arthur  hopes  to  pass,  and  where 
he  may  heal  him  of  his  grievous  wound. 

Presently   morning   came,   enthroned  in 
beauty,  arousing 
Graceful-robed  Nausicaa  :  first  at  the  vision 
she  marvelled. 


212       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

Then  through  her  home  she  passed  to  repeat 

her  dream  to  her  parents, 
Well-loved  father  and  mother.     She  found 

them  within,  for  the  mother 
Sat  at  the  side  of  the  hearth,  in  the  midst  of 

her  women  attendants, 
Spinning  the  sea-dyed  purple  yarn  ;  at  the 

doorway  her  father 
Met  her,  upon  his  way  to  join  the  illustrious 

chieftains, 
Sitting  in  council,  whither  the  noble  Phsea- 

cians  had  called  him. 
Standing  close   at  his  side,  she  addressed 

her  father  beloved :        {Ibid.  48-56.) 

(A  more  exact  rendering  for  the  next 
words  would  be  :  "Papa,  dear"  ;  the  term 
of  endearment  being  identical  in  Greek  and 
English,  as  in  many  other  languages.  Pro- 
fessor Merriam,  in  his  excellent  edition  of 
this  portion  of  the  Odyssey,  The  Phseacians 
of  Homer,  quotes  Pope's  rendering  of  this 
line,  as  a  striking  example  of  that  transla- 
tor's method  in  dealing  with  his  original :  — 

"  Will  my  dread  sire  his  ear  regardful  deign, 
And  may  his  child  the  royal  car  obtain  ?  " ) 

• '  Father,  dear,  would  you  make  ready  for 
me  a  wagon,  a  high  one, 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  213 

Strong  in  the  wheels,  that  I  may  carry  our 

beautiful  garments, 
Those  which   now  are   lying  soiled,  to  be 

washed  in  the  river  ? 
Ay,  and  for  you  yourself  it  is  seemly,  when 

in  the  council 
You  with  the  chiefs  are  sitting,  to  have  fresh 

raiment  upon  you. 
Five  dear  sons  besides  within  your  palace 

are  living ; 
Two  of  them  married  already,  but  three  yet 

blooming  and  youthful." 

{lUd.  57-63.) 

The  keen  observation  in  the  next  line 
is  evidently  applicable  more  especially  to 
the  three  blooming  young  bachelor  brothers 
of  the  wilful  little  maid  :  — 

"They  are  desirous  always  of  having  the 

new-washed  garments 
When  to  the  dance  they  go.     Of  all  this  in 
my  mind  am  I  thoughtful." 
Thus  did  she  speak,  for  she  shamed  her 
fruitful  marriage  to  mention. 

(^lUd.  64-66.) 

This  omission  is,  however,  by  no  means 
the  only  variation  between  the  words  of 
Pallas  and  those  of  Nausicaa.     The  girl's 


214      ^^T    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

quick  wit  and  ingenuity  are  abundantly 
indicated  in  this  seemingly  artless  speech. 
Her  innocent  craft  in  leaving  her  chief 
motive  unuttered  does  not  trouble  her  in- 
dulgent parent. 

Yet  understanding  all  this  her  affectionate 
father  made  answer : 

"  Neither  the  mules,  my  daughter,  nor  any- 
thing else  do  I  grudge  thee." 

{Ibid.  67-68.) 

So,  in  obedience  to  the  king's  command, 
the  mule-team  is  at  once  harnessed  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  palace. 

Meantime,  the  maiden  brought  from  the 

chamber  the  shining  garments. 
These  on  the  polished  wagon  she  carefully 

placed,  and  the  mother 
Put  in  a  basket  food  of  all  kinds,  suiting  her 

wishes. 
Dainties  as  well  she  packed,  and  into  a 

bottle  of  goat-skin 
Poured  some  wine ;   and  the  maiden  had 

meanwhile  mounted  the  wagon. 
Liquid  olive-oil  in  a  golden  vial  she  gave 

her, 
After  the  bath  to  anoint  herself  and  the 

women  attendants. 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  215 

Into  her  hands  then  the  whip  and  the  reins 

all  shining  she  gathered, 
Scourged  them  to  run,  and  loud  was  the 

sound  of  the  clattering  mule-hoofs. 
They  unceasingly  hastened,  and  carried  the 

maid  with  the  garments  ; 
Yet  not  alone,  but  with  her  there  followed 

the  women  attendants.   {Ihid.  74-84.) 

Though  the  goddess  Athene  has  inter- 
fered in  person  to  control  the  action  of  the 
princess,  yet  the  train  of  events  just  de- 
scribed is  so  naturally  and  vividly  drawn 
out,  the  meeting  which  is  evidently  to  be 
brought  about  is  being  prepared  so  easily 
and  credibly,  that  we  ourselves  seem  to  be 
glancing  in  eager  expectation  from  the  ex- 
hausted hero,  asleep  in  the  thicket,  to  the 
bright-eyed  charioteer,  followed  by  her 
troop  of  merry  companions,  as  she  ap- 
proaches the  river-mouth. 

When  they  now  had  arrived  at  the  beautiful 
stream  of  the  river, — 

Where  were  the  pools  unfailing,  and  clear 
and  abundant  the  water 

Gushed  from  beneath,  sufficient  for  cleans- 
ing the  foulest  of  raiment,  — 


2l6      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

There  did  the  girls  unharness  the  mules 

from  under  the  wagon. 
Then  they  drove  them  to  graze  by  the  side 

of  the  eddying  river, 
Cropping  the   fragrant   clover.     But  they 

themselves  from  the  wagon 
Took  in  their  arms  the  garments,  and  carried 

them  into  the  water. 
Trod  them  there  in  the  pits,  —  commencing 

a  rivalry  straightway. 

(What  could  be  more  realistic  than  this 
girlish  determination  to  make  a  frolic  even 
of  the  most  wearisome  drudgery  ?) 

Then,  when  they  had  washed  and  cleansed 
completely  the  garments, 

Spread  them  in  order  along  by  the  beach  of 
the  sea,  where  the  billow, 

Dashing  against  the  shore  most  strongly, 
was  washing  the  pebbles. 

When  they  had  bathed  and  anointed  them- 
selves with  the  oil  of  the  olive. 

Then  by  the  bank  of  the  river  the  noonday 
meal  they  provided, 

Waiting  until  their  clothes  should  dry  in 
the  glow  of  the  sunshine. 

Presently,  when  they  were  sated  with  eat- 
ing, the  maids  and  the  princess 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  21 7 

Started  a  game  of  ball,  first  laying  aside 
their  head-dress.  {Ibid.  85-100.) 

The  elaborate  comparison  of  Nausicaa  to 
Artemis,  which  follows,  will  be  most  fa- 
miliar to  many  readers  through  the  close 
imitation,  or  rather  translation,  of  it  by 
Virgil,  who  applies  it,  with  less  fitness,  to 
Dido. 

Foremost  in  song  and  in  dance  white-armed 

Nausicaa  led  them, 
Even  as  Artemis  passes,  the  huntress,  over 

the  mountains, 
She  who  in  chasing  the  boar  or  the  fleet 

deer  taketh  her  pastime  ; 
With  her  the   nymphs,  the   daughters  of 

Zeus,  who  is  lord  of  the  segis. 
Woodland-dwellers,  are  sporting  ;  and  Leto 

rejoices  in  spirit ; 
Loftily  over  them  all  her  head  and  brow  she 

upraises. 
All  are  beautiful  there,  yet  she  is  easily 

foremost. 
So  in  the  midst  of  her  girls  was  supreme 

that  maiden  unwedded. 

{Ibid.  101-109.) 

The  poet  now  again  mentions  Pallas, 
and  describes  her  as  intervening  once  more 


2l8      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

at  this  point  to  control  the  course  of  events 
in  Odysseus'  interest.  This  passing  re- 
minder of  the  deus  ex  machina  does  not, 
however,  prevent  the  simple  idyllic  plot 
from  unravelling  itself  in  a  most  natural 
and  unforced  manner. 

Then  did  the  princess  throw  their  ball  at 
one  of  the  handmaids. 

Yet  she  missed  the  girl,  and  it  fell  in  the 
eddying  river. 

So  they  screamed  full  loudly :  —  and  god- 
like Odysseus  was  wakened, 

Sat  upright,  and  pondered  within  his  heart 
and  his  spirit : 
"  Woe  is  me  !     What  mortals  are  these 
whose  land  I  have  entered  ? 

Are  they  lawless,  I  wonder,  and  savage,  re- 
gardless of  justice  ? 

Or  are  they  kind  unto  strangers,  and  rev' rent 
the  spirit  within  them  ? 

Surely  a  womanish  cry,  as  of  maidens,  re- 
sounded about  me. 

Nymphs,    it  may  be,   that    dwell  on  the 
cragged  peaks  of  the  mountains, 

Or  that  live  in  the  sources  of  rivers  and 
grassy  morasses. 

Or  am  I  near,  perchance,  unto  human  lan- 
guage and  mortals  ? 


ODYSSEUS    AND   NAUSICAA  2I9 

Come,  now,  let  me  myself  make  trial  there- 
of, and  behold  them." 
Having  thus  spoken,  the  godlike  Odysseus 
crept  from  the  bushes  ; 

Yet  with  his  powerful  hand  he  broke  off  a 
branch  in  the  thicket, 

Covered  with  foliage,  to  hide  his  nakedness, 
screening  his  body.     {Ibid.  115-129.) 

The  comparison  of  Odysseus  to  a  hun- 
gry lion  leaving  his  covert,  which  occurs 
here,  may  be  omitted ;  its  chief  value 
being  to  illustrate  the  indebtedness  of  the 
poet  who  composed  the  Odyssey  to  the 
older  Iliad.  The  figure  is  much  more 
effective,  as  originally  employed,  in  de- 
scribing Sarpedon  rushing  eagerly  to  battle. 

Loathsome  to  them  he   appeared,  by  the 

brine  of  the  sea  disfigured. 
Hither  and  thither  they  fled  to  the  jutting 

points  of  the  shoreland. 
Only  Alkinoos'    daughter    remained ;    for 

Athene  imparted 
Courage  into  her  heart,  and  conquered  the 

terror  within  her.       {Ibid.  137-140.) 

Under  the  circumstances,  Odysseus  did 
not  venture  to  approach    and    clasp    the 


220      ART    AND    IIUMAXITY   IN    HOMER 

princess'  knees,  —  the  regular  attitude  for 
a  suppliant  to  assume,  —  but,  standing 
aloof  from  her,  he 

Straightway  uttered  to  her  a  speech  that  was 
winning  and  crafty, —        {Ibid.  148.) 

an  art  in  which  he  was  above  all  men  a 
master. 

"  I  am  thy  suppliant,  princess  !     Art  thou 

some  god  or  a  mortal  ? 
If  thou  art  one  of  the  gods  that  have  their 

abode  in  the  heavens. 
Unto  Artemis,  child  of  imperial  Zeus,  do  I 

deem  thee 
Likest  in  beauty  of  face,  as  well  as  in  stature 

and  bearing. 
But  if  of  mortals  thou'rt  one,  that  have  on 

the  earth  their  abiding. 
Trebly  blessed  in  thee  are  thy  father  and 

reverend  mother. 
Trebly  blessed  thy  brethren  ;  and  surely  the 

spirit  within  them 
Glows  evermore  with  delight  for  thy  sake 

when  they  behold  thee 
Entering  into  the  dance,  who  art  so  lovely 

a  blossom. 
Happy  in  heart  is  he,  moreover,  above  all 

others, 


ODYSSEUS   AND   NAUSICAA  221 

Who  by  gifts  shall  prevail,  and  unto  his 

dwelling  shall  lead  thee. 
Never  before  with  mine  eyes  have  I  beheld 

such  a  mortal, 
Whether  a  woman  or  man.     As  I  gaze,  awe 

seizes  upon  me  !  "      {Ibid.  149-161.) 

Casting  about  in  his  mind  for  a  com- 
parison, he  can  only  liken  her  to  a  graceful 
young  palm-tree  which  he  had  once  seen  at 
Delos,  beside  Apollo's  altar.  The  passage 
is  of  interest  for  two  quite  distinct  reasons. 
It  shows  that  in  the  poet's  day,  at  any  rate, 
the  island-sanctuary  of  Apollo  was  already 
noted,  and  visited  by  voyagers  from  other 
Greek  lands  ;  and  also  that  the  palm-tree 
was  then  a  rare  and  much-admired  novelty 
in  the  ^gean.  With  a  brief  reference  to 
his  latest  voyage,  in  which  it  may  be  noted 
that  he  makes  no  allusion  to  the  gracious 
creatures  of  her  own  sex  who  had  cherished 
or  aided  him,  he  continues  :  — 

"Yet  have  mercy,  O  queen  !  After  suffer- 
ing many  disasters. 

First  unto  thee  am  I  come.  I  know  not  one 
of  the  others 

Whoso  make  their  home  within  this  city  or 
country. 


222        ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

But  do  thou  show  rae  the  town,  and  give  me 

some  tattered  garment, 
If  perchance  when  thou  earnest  some  wrap 

thou  hadst  for  the  linen." 

{Ihid.  175-179.) 

But  close  upon  this  most  humble  request 
and  almost  extravagant  self-abasement,  the 
unknown  wanderer  ends  his  appeal  with 
noble  and  pathetic  words. 

' '  So  may  the  gods  accord  thee  whatever  in 

spirit  thou  cravest : 
Husband  and  home  may  they  grant,  and 

glorious  harmony  also. 
Since  there  is  nothing,  in  truth,  more  mighty 

than  this,  or  more  noble, 
When  two  dwell  in  a  home  concordant  in 

spirit  together. 
Husband  and  wife :   unto  foes  a  source  of 

many  vexations, 
Joy  to  their  friends ;   yet  they  themselves 

most  truly  shall  know  it !  " 

{Ihid.  180-185.) 

Either  the  compliments  at  the  beginning 
of  this  speech,  or  the  tender  sentiments  at 
the  close,  have  already  produced  a  powerful 
effect  upon  the  heart  of  the  gentle  princess. 


ODYSSEUS   AND   NAUSICAA  223 

Then  unto  him  in  her  turn  white-armed 

Nausicaa  answered : 
"  Stranger,  thou  dost  not  seem  an  ignoble 

man,  nor  a  senseless  ; 
Zeus,  the  Olympian,  himself  apportions  their 

blessings  to  mortals, 
Both  to  the  base  and  the  noble,  to  each  as 

suiteth  his  pleasure  ; 
This  hath  he  laid  upon  thee,  and  thou  must 

in  patience  endure  it. 
Yet    now,   since  thou  into   our  state    art 

entered,  and  country, 
Neither  of  raiment  shalt  thou  be  in  lack, 

nor  of  aught  whatsoever 
Is  for  a  liard-pressed  suppliant,    meeting 

with  succour,  befitting. 
Yes,  and  the  town  I  will  show  thee,  and  tell 

thee  the  name  of  the  people. 
'Tis  the  Phseacians  who  dwell  in  this  our 

city  and  country. 
I  myself  am  the  child  of  Alkinoos,  lofty  of 

spirit, 
On  whom  all  the  Phaeacians'  dominion  and 

force  are  dependent." 

(Then  turning  aside  from  him,  the  princess 
recalls  the  fugitive  maidens.) 

"  Stay,  my  attendants  !     Wliy  at  behold- 
ing a  man  are  ye  fleeing  ? 


224       ^RT    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

Did  ye  suppose  him,  perciiance,  to  be  of  a 
hostile  nation  ? 

Surely  no  man  is  alive,  nor  shall  he  be  liv- 
ing hereafter, 

Who  would  venture  to  enter  the  land  of  the 
men  of  Phseacia 

Offering  harm  ;  for  we  of  the  gods  are  dearly 
beloved. 

Out  of  the  way,  too,  we  dwell,  in  the  midst 
of  the  billowy  waters, 

Farthest  of  all  mankind  ;   no  others  have 
dealings  among  us. 

Nay,  this  is  some  ill-fated  man  come  wan- 
dering hither, 

Whom  we  must  care  for  now,  because  all 
strangers  and  beggars 

Stand  in  the  charge  of  Zeus,  and  a  gift, 
though  little,  is  welcome. 

Come,  then,  give  both  drink  and  food  to 
the  stranger,  and  bid  him 

Bathe  in  the  stream,  my  attendants,  where 
from  the  wind  there  is  shelter. ' ' 

{Ibid.  186-210.) 

Odysseus  is  accordingly  provided  with 
robe  and  tunic  and  the  vial  of  olive-oil. 
After  he  has  bathed  and  anointed  himself, 
Pallas  Athene  makes  him  far  statelier  and 
more  beautiful  than  before.     So,  as  he  sits 


ODYSSEUS   AND   NAUSICAA  225 

resting  a  little  apart,  Nausicaa  addresses  her 
companions  with  truly  Homeric  frankness. 

"Listen  to  me,  my  white-armed  maids, 

that  I  something  may  tell  you. 
Not  without  the  approval  of  all  the  gods  in 

Olympos 
Hath  this  man  come  hither,  among  the  Phse- 

acians,  the  godlike. 
'Tis  but  a  brief  while  since  that  I  really 

thought  him  uncomely. 
Now  is  he  like  to  the  gods  who  abide  in  the 

open  heavens. 
Would  that  such  an  one  as  he  could  be 

called  my  husband, 
Having   his   dwelling  here   and  contented 

among  us  to  tarry  ! ' ' 

{Ihid.  239-245.) 

It  will  be  interesting  to  set  here,  for  com- 
parison, a  few  lines  from  the  greatest  of 
our  contemporary  English  poets,  who  long 
ago,  introducing  his  earliest  Arthurian 
verses  as 

"Weak  Homeric  echoes,  nothing  worth," 

intimated  thereby  his  own  consciousness  of 
a  kinship  in  spirit  which  many  of  his  readers 
have  recognized. 
Q 


226       ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

"Marr'd  as  lie  was,  he  seem'd  the  goodliest 

man 
That  ever  among  ladies  ate  in  hall, 
And  noblest,  when  she  lifted  up  her  eyes. 
However  marr'd,  of  more  than  twice  her 

years, 
Seam'd  with  an  ancient  sword-cut   on  his 

cheek, 
And  bruised  and  bronzed,  she  lifted  up  her 

eyes 
And  loved  him,  with  that  love  that  was  her 

doom." 

Nausicaa  again  orders  that  food  and  drink 
be  set  before  the  stranger,  and  the  poet  re- 
cords that  he  ate  ravenously  ;  adding  apolo- 
getically that  he 

long  from  food  had  been  fasting. 

A  vigorous  appetite  is  a  constant  character- 
istic of  Odysseus  in  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey, 
On  one  occasion,  in  the  former  tale,  he  is 
employed  on  arduous  enterprises  nearly  all 
night ;  and  a  careful  reader,  if  not  absorbed 
in  the  loftier  features  of  the  poem,  may  note 
that  thrice  between  sunset  and  morning  he 
accepts  an  invitation  to  a  hearty  meal,  and 
apparently  on  each  occasion  does  full  jus- 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  22/ 

tice  to  the  cheer.  This  thoroughly  human 
trait  has  not  escaped  the  attention  of  the 
poet  who  invented  this  Pliseacian  episode, 
and  who  certainly  was  in  little  danger  of 
erring  in  the  direction  of  excessive  dignity 
and  seriousness.  When  Odysseus,  despite 
this  breaking  of  his  fast,  makes  a  pathetic 
appeal  for  food  to  Nausicaa's  parents,  a  few 
hours  later,  it  is  in  words  whose  extrava- 
gance is  carried  to  the  verge  of  grotesque- 
ness.  Among  the  heroes  of  the  mythic  age, 
perhaps  Heracles  only  is  more  notable  as  a 
valiant  trencher-knight. 

Nausicaa  now  makes  preparations  for  her 
return  homeward,  and,  having  mounted  the 
wagon,  she  thus  addresses  Odysseus :  — 

"Stranger,  arise,  and  townward  fare,  that 

I  may  conduct  thee 
Unto  the  house  of  my  wise  father,  in  which 

I  assure  thee 
Thou  shalt  behold  whosoever  are  noblest  of 

all  the  Phaeacians. 
Yet  thou  must  do  as  I  say :   thou  seem'st 

•  not  lacking  in  shrewdness. 
While  we  are  passing  along  by  the  fields  and 

the  farms  of  our  people, 


228       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

So  far  among  my  maids,   close  after  the 

mules  and  the  wagon 
Thou  mayst  come,  with  speed,  and  I  will 

be  guide  on  the  journey. 
But  as  we  come  to  the  town,  round  which 

is  a  high-built  rampart, 
And  upon  either  side  of  the  city  a  beautiful 

harbour  "  —  {E>id.  255-263.) 

Nausicaa  runs  off  into  an  admiring  de- 
scription of  her  home,  until  she  is  even 
guilty  of  forgetting  the  main  clause  of  her 
original  sentence  !  It  appears  that  the  nar- 
row road  over  the  isthmus  into  the  town  is 
the  favourite  resort  of  idlers,  whose  discour- 
teous remarks  the  princess  dreads  to  face 
in  Odysseus'  company.  With  quick  fancy 
she  imagines  what  they  would  say  :  — 

"  'Who  is  yon  stranger  who  follows  Nau- 
sicaa ?     Handsome  and  stately 

Is  he.  Where  did  she  find  him  ?  She'll 
have  him  herself  for  her  husband  ! 

Either  she  rescued  him  as  a  castaway  out 
of  his  vessel, 

One  of  a  far-off  people,  —  since  none  there 
are  who  are  near  us,  — 

Or  some  god  much  prayed  for  is  down  from 
the  heavens  descended 


ODYSSEUS    AND   NAUSICAA  229 

At  her  petition,  and  he  for  his  wife  shall 

have  her  forever. 
So  is  it  better,  if  she  has  gone  and  found 

her  a  husband 
Out  of  another  land,  for  these  of  her  folk, 

the  Phseacians, 
She  disdains,  though  many  and  excellent  men 

are  her  suitors.'  "       {Ibid.  276-284.) 

Lest  we  should  fancy  the  last  words  to  be 
a  mere  fiction  of  Nausicaa  to  raise  herself 
in  the  handsome  stranger's  esteem,  the  poet 
has  taken  care  to  put  the  same  assertion,  in 
somewhat  stronger  form,  into  the  mouth  of 
Pallas  Athene,  when  she  appears  in  the 
night  to  the  princess,  at  the  opening  of  the 
sixth  book. 

"  So  would  they  talk,  and  for  me  it  would 

be  a  disgrace  !  —  and  I  also 
Should  with  another  girl  be  angry,  whoever 

so  acted ; 
Who,  in  spite  of  her  friends,  while  her  father 

and  mother  were  living. 
Mingled  freely  with  men,  ere  yet  she  was 

publicly  wedded."      {Ihid.  285-288.) 

It  is  quite  possible  that  these  very  proper 
remarks  of  the  king's  daughter,  on  the  duty 


230  ART    AND  HUMAXITY  IX  HOMER 

of  maidenly  modesty,  are  prompted  in  part  by 
the  consciousness  that  her  own  innocent  lo- 
quacity has  just  carried  her  somewhattoo  far. 

"Stranger,  and  thou  must  now  to  my 
words  give  attention,  that  quickly 

Ihou  mayst  obtain  safe-conduct,  and  home- 
ward return,  from  my  father. 

Near  to  the  road  thou  wilt  notice  a  beautiful 
grove  of  Athene,  — 

Poplars :  within  it  a  fountain  flows,  and  a 
meadow  surrounds  it. 

There  my  father's  domain  is  found,  and  his 
fruitful  enclosure."     (T&id.  289-293.) 

Here,  then,  outside  the  town,  Odysseus  is 
to  remain  behind  until  the  girls  have  had 
time  to  reach  home.  Then  he  also  may 
pass  into  the  city,  where  he  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  finding  the  palace,  so  inferior 
are  the  ordinary  Phseacian  houses  to  the 
stately  abode  of  Alkinoos. 

"  But  so  soon  as  the  hero's  dwelling  and 

courtyard  receive  thee 
Make  thy  way  at  once  through  the  hall,  till 

thou  come  to  my  mother. 
She  has  her  seat  at  the  side  of  the  hearth, 

in  the  gleam  of  the  firelight, 


ODYSSEUS    AND   NAUSICAA  23! 

Spinning  her  yarn,  sea-purple  in  colour,  a 
marvel  to  look  on,  — 

Leaning  on  one  of  the  columns.    Her  hand- 
maids are  seated  behind  her." 

{Ibid.  303-307. 

The  unwearied  diligence  of  Arete,  the 
queen,  whom  Odysseus  will  find  at  dusk 
employed  as  her  daughter  had  left  her  in 
the  early  morning,  may  well  remind  us  of 
Priscilla,  the  Puritan  maiden,  and  Bertha, 
the  beautiful  spinner. 

"  On  that  selfsame  pillar  my  father's  chair 

is  resting. 
There  he  sits,  and  like  an  immortal  his  wine 

he  is  quaffing. 
Yet  thou  must  pass  him  by,  and  unto  the 

knees  of  my  mother 
Stretch  thy  hands,  that  thou  mayst  behold 

thy  day  of  returning 
Quickly  and  joyfully,  though  thy  land  is 

exceedingly  distant."  {Ihid.  308-312.) 

The  keen-witted  little  princess  has  already 
discovered  who  is  the  real  ruler  in  cabin 
and  hall. 

The  sun  is  setting  when  they  reach  the 
sacred  grove   of   Pallas,    where    Odysseus 


232       ART    AND    HUMAXITY    IX    HOMER 

obediently  tarries  behind,  and  makes  a  fer- 
vent prayer  to  the  goddess  of  the  sanctuary. 
Here  the  sixth  book  closes. 


From  the  seventh  book,  which  describes 
the  reception  of  Odysseus  in  the  palace,  we 
can  cull  only  a  few  of  the  opening  lines. 

There  did  he  make  his  prayer,  the  god- 
like, enduring  Odysseus, 
While  on  her  way  to  the  city  the  strong 

mules  carried  the  maiden. 
When  she  now  had  arrived  at  her  father's 

glorious  palace, 
There  at  the  doorway  she  checked  them. 

Around     her     were     gathered     her 

brothers, 
—  Like  unto  gods  were  they  to  behold,  — 

and  they  from  the  wagon 
Straightway  unharnessed  the  mules,  and 

carried  the  raiment  within  doors. 
She  to  her  chamber  passed,  where  an  ancient 

dame  from  Apeira 
Lighted  a  fire  for  her,  —  her  servant  Eury- 

medousa  ; 
.  .  .  Lighted  a  fire  in  her  room,  and  there 

made  ready  her  supper. 

(Od.  VII.  1-13.) 


ODYSSEUS    AND   NAUSICAA  233 

So  Nausicaa  slips  quietly  out  of  the  story. 
Only  once  more  do  we  have  a  glimpse  of 
her.  Odysseus  meets  with  the  kindly  re- 
ception which  she  had  promised  him.  All 
the  next  day  he  is  entertained  with  athletic 
contests,  dancing,  and  the  harper's  lay. 
The  story  of  this  day  fills  the  eighth  hook. 
At  nightfall,  after  a  luxurious  bath,  he  is 
descending  to  the  banquet-hall. 

But  Nausicaa,  who  by  the  gods  was  gifted 
with  beauty. 
There  in  the  well-built  hall  at  the  side  of  a 

pillar  was  standing. 
On  Odysseus  gazed  she  with  wonder  when 

she  beheld  him  ; 
Then  these  winged  words  she  uttered  to  him 
and  addressed  him : 
"  Farewell,  stranger  !     And  in  thy  native 
country  hereafter 
Think  of  me,  unto  whom  thou  first  for  thy 
life  art  indebted." 
Thus  did  the  crafty  Odysseus  address  her 

then  and  responded  : 
"0    Nausicaa,    noble-hearted   Alkiuoos' 
daughter. 
Verily  so  may  Zeus,  the  Thunderer,  hus- 
band of  Her6, 


234       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Grant  that  I  come  to  my  home,  and  behold 

my  day  of  returning, 
As,  even  there,  unto  thee  as  a  god  I  would 

pay  my  devotions, 
All  my  days,  evermore  ;  for  my  life  thou 

hast  rescued,  0  maiden." 

(Od.  VIII.  457-468.) 

The  epithet  "  crafty  "  is  the  usual  one  of 
Odysseus,  and  need  have  no  reference  to 
the  situation  at  the  moment.  But  surely 
it  is  a  proof  of  consummate  skill,  as  well  as 
of  the  highest  courtesy,  when  he  thus,  with 
magnificent  hyperbole,  in  his  hasty  words 
of  final  farewell,  elevates  to  the  position  of 
a  goddess,  or  of  a  patron  saint  as  it  were, 
the  pure-hearted  girl  who  had  so  frankly 
intimated  her  desire  to  retain  him  in  a 
closer  relation.  What  other  parting  words 
could  have  done  so  much  to  heal  the  hurt 
and  save  her  pride  ?  Tennyson  could  de- 
vise none,  but  must  needs  let  even  courtly 
Lancelot  ride  sadly  away  without  farewell. 

"  This  was  the  one  discourtesy  that  he  used." 

And  so  Odysseus  and  Xausicaa  part ;  for 
not  even  in  merry  Phseacia  does  the  Greek 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  235 

poet  venture  to  let  a  young  girl  mingle  with 
the  men  in  the  banquet-hall. 

Of  the  hero's  later  fortunes  all  the  world 
knows.  At  the  banquet,  the  minstrel,  sing- 
ing of  the  siege  of  Troy,  stirs  the  unknown 
guest  to  tears,  and,  being  courteously  ques- 
tioned by  his  host,  Odysseus  reveals  his 
name,  the  most  illustrious  of  all  who  sur- 
vived the  fatal  strife  in  the  Scamandrian 
plain.  The  next  four  books  of  the  poem, 
from  the  ninth  to  the  twelfth,  contain  his 
account  of  former  wanderings  on  the  home- 
ward voyage  from  the  Troad.  After  another 
day  spent  in  feasting  and  in  listening  to  the 
harper  Demodocos,  he  is  permitted  at  night- 
fall to  embark  for  home.  He  straightway 
falls  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  is  still  slumber- 
ing heavily  when  the  Phseacians  set  him 
ashore,  with  many  precious  gifts,  upon  a 
remote  corner  of  his  own  rugged  Ithaca. 

The  last  twelve  books  of  the  poem  relate 
how,  by  craft  and  valour,  he  won  his  throne 
and  wife  again.  Later  poets,  of  every  age 
and  speech,  have  attempted  to  weave  still 
farther  the  web  of  his  adventurous  life.  In 
one   of  the  most  beautiful  cantos  of  the 


236      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

Inferno,  he  himself  tells  the  tale  of  his  last 
voyage  and  death,  and  Tennyson's  poem 
Ulysses  is  so  perfect  in  form  and  so  touch- 
ing in  thought  as  to  make  us  willingly  for- 
get, with  the  poet,  that  Odysseus'  faithful 
comrades, 

"  Who  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome  took 
The  storm  and  sunshine," 

had  all  perished  on  the  way,  before  the 
hero  came  again  to  his  own. 

But  of  Nausicaa  the  Odyssey  has  not 
another  word  to  tell ;  and  what  later  singer 
might  venture  to  bid  her  live  even  a  single 
day  more  ? 

*'  Ah,  who  shall  lift  that  wand  of  magic 
power, 
Or  the  lost  clue  regain  ?  " 

One  Attic  drama  may  indeed  have  in- 
cluded among  its  characters  a  Nausicaa, 
drawn  by  a  not  unworthy  hand.  We  are 
told  that  when  Sophocles'  play  Nausicaa, 
or  the  Washers,  was  acted,  the  poet  broke 
through  his  usual  custom  and  himself  ap- 
peared as  an  actor,  winning  much  applause, 
especially  by  his  beauty  and  grace  in  the 


ODYSSEUS   AND   NAUSICAA  237 

dancing  and  rhythmic  ball-play,  in  the 
character  of  Nausicaa  herself !  This  inci- 
dent has  been  curiously  overlooked  by  Mr. 
Browning  in  a  passage  of  his  learned  Aris- 
tophanes' Apology  :  — 

..."  Once,  and  only  once,  trod  stage, 
Sang,  and  touched  lyre  in  person,  in  his  youth 
Our  Sophokles." 

It  has  been  intimated  more  than  once 
already  that  the  translator  sees,  or  fancies 
he  sees,  a  striking,  though  purely  accidental, 
resemblance  between  the  stories  of  Nausicaa 
and  of  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat.  Each  loves 
at  first  sight  the  most  illustrious  hero  of  her 
day,  when  he  comes,  unknown  and  unac- 
companied, to  her  home.  Each  saves  the  life 
of  the  stranger,  and  proffers  him  a  pure 
maidenly  love  which  he  cannot  return. 
Even  the  circumstances  of  the  good  knight's 
final  departure  are  not  wholly  unlike  in  the 
two  tales;  for  when  Odysseus,  embarking 
for  home,  bids  a  grateful  and  loving  fare- 
well to  his  hosts,  he  does  not  venture  to 
mention  Nausicaa  by  name,  and  it  is  not 
certain  that  she  was  present.     The  wan- 


238       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

derer's  last  words  are  addressed  to  Arete, 
the  queen,  invoking  a  blessing  on  her 
household  and  her  folk. 

And  yet,  surely  no  one  would  be  tempted 
to  press  the  parallel  farther,  and  to  fancy 
that  the  Phseacian  mind  pined  away,  like 
Elaine,  for  love  of  her  lost  hero.  When, 
at  the  banquet,  the  night  before  his  depart- 
ure, the  shipwrecked  stranger  revealed  him- 
self as  Odysseus,  far  famed  above  all  men, 
the  destroyer  of  Ilios,  the  exciting  news 
doubtless  spread  through  the  servants'  hall 
to  the  women's  rooms,  and  faithful  old 
Eurymedousa  brought  the  tidings,  per- 
chance, even  to  the  sequestered  chamber 
of  the  princess.  Nausicaa's  heart  may 
have  stirred  with  pride  to  think  that  so 
long  as  the  strange  story  of  the  crafty  Ith- 
acan's  life  should  be  told  or  sung,  in  after- 
days,  she  would  always  live  in  one  of  its 
brightest  scenes  ;  but  the  husband  of  heed- 
ful Penelope,  the  father  of  Telemachos, 
must  quickly  have  lost  the  power  over  her 
heart  which  the  unknown  suppliant  had  so 
easily  gained.  If  Telemachos'  wanderings 
had  brought  him  to  that  sunny  Scherian 


ODYSSEUS   AND   NAUSICAA  239 

beach  —  But  let  us  cast  no  tempting  sug- 
gestion in  the  path  of  any  too  audacious 
nineteenth-century  would-be  Homerid  !  In- 
deed, this  same  happy  solution  has  already 
occurred  to  the  mind  of  a  later  Hellenic 
poet. 

And  the  moral?  It  has  been  uttered 
already  in  memorable  words.  There  was  a 
learned  but  inconclusive  discussion  in  The 
New  York  Nation^  I  believe,  some  years  ago, 
whether  it  was  a  pagan  sage  or  a  Christian 
saint  who  coined  the  aphorism,  '■'■Maledicti 
qui  ante  nos  nostra  dixerunty  (Confusion 
to  those  who  have  said  our  good  things 
before  us. )  It  matters  little ,  however,  which 
invented  the  phrase,  for  the  sentiment  is 
one  of  which  the  church  father  or  the 
heathen  philosopher  alike  should  have  been 
ashamed.  What  has  really  never  been  said 
had  better  not  be  said,  because  it  is  pre- 
sumably false  ;  and  we  never  lose  the  privi- 
lege of  trying  to  utter  the  old  thought  better 
than  all  others  have  done,  and  so  making 
it  our  own.  But,  more  than  that,  one  of 
the  greatest  debts  we  owe  to  our  predeces- 
sors is  their  simple,  adequate  utterance  of 


240       ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

great  and  inspiring  truths,  in  such  impres- 
sive form  that  tliey  pass  current  like  perfect 
and  indestructible  coin,  making  every  gen- 
eration of  common  men  so  much  the  richer 
by  each  philosophic  maxim  or  golden  poetic 
phrase. 

And  certainly,  it  was  only  with  delight 
that  the  translator,  just  as  he  was  under- 
taking the  present  sketch,  welcomed  a 
little  lay  sermon  on  the  tale  of  Nausicaa 
(Simplicity,  by  Charles  Dudley  Warner, 
Atlantic  Monthly,  March,  1889),  so  brief 
and  graceful,  so  full  and  suggestive,  that 
it  would  be  presumptuous  indeed  to  add 
thereto,  or  even  to  attempt  a  summary  of 
the  essay  in  question.  It  may  be  permitted, 
however,  to  call  attention  to  a  single  sen- 
tence in  that  paper:  "I  am  not  recalling 
it"  (the  story  of  Nausicaa)  "because  it  is 
a  conspicuous  instance  of  the  true  realism 
that  is  touched  with  the  ideality  of  genius, 
which  is  the  immortal  element  in  literature, 
but  as  an  illustration  of  the  other  necessary 
quality  in  all  productions  of  the  human 
mind  that  remain  age  after  age,  and  that 
is  simplicity."     It  is  to  be  hoped  that  we 


ODYSSEUS    AND    NAUSICAA  24I 

may  yet  have  from  the  same  hand  that 
other  lesson  which  is  thus  given  only  pass- 
ing mention ;  for  the  essayist  is  evidently 
in  agreement  with  us  that  Nausicaa  is  as 
happy  an  example  as  could  well  he  found, 
not  only  of  the  essential  simplicity  of  the 
greatest  artistic  creations,  but  of  the  other 
indispensable  requirements,  —  truthfulness 
and  beauty  ;  or,  as  he  apparently  prefers 
to  combine  the  two  in  one,  truthfulness 
to  the  beautiful  side  of  humanity  or  nature, 
which  is  infinitely  more  real  and  eternal 
than  ugliness  and  imperfection . 

The  episode  of  Nausicaa  was  not  written, 
like  Bekker's  Charicles,  to  illustrate  the 
everyday  life  of  the  ancient  Greeks.  It 
cannot  be  used  as  evidence  regarding,  e.g. 
the  frequency  of  washing-days  in  the 
Homeric  age.  It  is  no  proof  that  Hellenic 
princesses  went  picnicking  in  remote  spots, 
unprotected  and  unchaperoned.  It  is  a 
romance.  The  whole  Phaeacian  episode 
(every  Homeric  episode,  indeed)  is  inex- 
tricably intertwined  with  marvellous  and 
superhuman  incidents  and  characters.  But 
it  is  true,  nevertheless,  — true  to  the  essen- 


242       ART    AND    IIUMAXITY    IN    HOMER 

tial  laws  of  art  and  of  humanity.  And 
therefore  of  Nausicaa,  as  of  Rosalind,  of 
Perdita,  or  of  Miranda,  it  may  well  be 
asked,  '*  Who,  pray,  is  alive,  if  she  be 
dead?" 


VII 

ACCRETIONS    TO    THE    TROY-MYTH    AFTER 
HOMER 

'T^HIS  paper  is  intended  to  sketch  out  a 
-^  concrete  illustration  of  a  familiar  truth, 
or  even  perhaps  of  two  truths.  In  order 
to  remind  ourselves  that  classical  studies 
should  be  alive  and  progressive,  not  plod- 
ding a  dull  circle,  nor  rambling  in  dusty 
catacombs,  it  is  helpful  to  remember  that 
the  antique  world  itself  the  object  of  our 
study,  teems  with  multifarious  warring  life 
from  whatever  side  we  gaze  upon  it.  We 
cannot  enforce  unity  and  permanence  where 
infinite  variation  is  itself  a  law.  This  is 
especially  true  of  myth. 

There  is  a  passage  at  the  end  of  Euripides' 
Hippolytos,   in  which  Artemis  calmly  ex- 
plains—  while  the  poor  hero  himself  lies 
a  pain-racked  victim  to  a  celestial  quarrel 
243 


244       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

—  the  charming  harmony  that  reigns  on 
Olympos. 

"Not  one  would  interfere  to  thwart  the  will 
Of  any,  hut  we  ever  stand  aloof." 

Makers  of  mythological  handbooks,  from 
Apollodoros'  Bibliotheke  to  Murray's  Man- 
ual, seem  desirous  to  apply  the  precept  of 
Artemis  rather  than  to  observe  the  practice 
of  her  family.  They  would  bid  us  gaze 
upon  a  fairly-ordered  garden,  as  it  were, 
wherein  every  bed  has  but  its  own  well- 
bred  flowers,  while  the  walks  are  broad  and 
straight,  never  labyrinthine.    But  the  truth 

—  as  a  glance,  even,  into  Pausanias'  accu- 
mulation of  local  legends  and  contradictory 
cults  would  alone  suffice  to  remind  us  —  is 
rather  to  be  seen  in  the  figure  of  a  tropical 
jungle.  Livy  makes  a  naive  attempt  to 
open  a  fairly  straight  vista  through  this 
jungle,  that  we  may  see  our  way  from  the 
Pergamos  of  Troy  to  the  hill  town  of 
Romulus.  But  his  contemporary,  Diony- 
sios,  who  crowds  into  the  first  chapter  of 
his  Archaiologia  the  whole  mass  of  Latin 
founders'  legends,  has  given  a  much  better 


ACCRETIONS    TO    THE    TROY-MYTH       245 

idea  how  myths  look  in  their  native  luxu- 
riance. 

Even  in  the  great  overshadowing  and  per- 
manently located  legends,  like  the  greatest 
of  all,  the  "tale  of  Troy  divine,"  it  is  not 
merely  fanciful  to  suggest  a  resemblance 
to  the  mangrove  tree,  whose  farthest 
branches  take  root  in  alien  soil  to  be- 
come the  sturdy  trunks  of  an  independent 
growth.  We  cannot  enforce  symmetry  in 
that  growth  by  any  process  short  of  killing 
the  tree  and  cutting  it  into  boards.  In- 
finitely more  scientific  is  the  attempt  to 
follow  historically  the  story  of  develop- 
ment. 

The  other  truth  is  perhaps  best  stated 
in  Cicero's  familiar  words  :  '■'■Omnes  artes, 
quce  ad  humanitatem  pertinent,  habent 
quoddam  vinculum,  et  quasi  cognatione 
quadam  inter  se  continentur.''^  Fragmen- 
tary and  baffling  enough  our  knowledge 
will  always  remain  ;  but  from  every  cam- 
paign is  borne  home  in  triumph  the  sculp- 
tured sarcophagus  or  inscribed  tablet, 
carven  gem  or  painted  vase,  destined  to 
throw  new  light  on  the  old  puzzles,  —  and 


246       ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

to  evoke  new  problems  no  less.  Indeed, 
the  soil  of  classical  lands  sometimes  seems 
to  our  excited  imagination  to  be  slowly- 
producing  and  steadily  multiplying  these 
treasures,  as  the  earth  does  her  diamonds 
or  the  ocean  his  pearls.  The  second 
truism  is,  then,  that  every  department  of 
scientific  study,  whether  referring  to  lin- 
guistics and  literature  or  to  the  Realities 
(Healieii),  throws  its  ray  of  illustration  on 
every  other.  After  a  popular  lecture,  the 
question  was  once  asked  why  Andromache 
was  regularly  described  as  white-armed. 
Among  a  half-dozen  evasions  to  conceal 
his  own  ignorance,  the  lecturer  pleased  the 
questioner  best  by  the  reminder,  that  it  was 
the  ordinary  convention  with  the  decorators 
of  ancient  pottery  to  represent  the  exposed 
flesh  of  women  as  white,  not,  like  the 
men's,  red :  this  being  again  a  memorial  of 
the  harem-like  seclusion  in  which  most 
Greek  ladies  passed  their  lives. 

A  few  of  the  main  features  in  the  modern 
or  complete  Troy-myth  will  perhaps  best 
illustrate  how  constantly  the  Greek  mind 
incrusted  new  details  upon  the  old  legends ; 


ACCRETIONS    TO    THE    TROY-MYTH       247 

just  as  many  a  generation  added  new  finials 
and  gargoyles,  statues  and  ornaments  of 
every  kind,  to  a  Gothic  cathedral,  even 
after  it  might  be  pronounced  finished.  A 
Greek  was  hardly  capable  of  mere  slavish 
copying ;  even  the  humble  artisan  who 
painted  earthen  pottery  hardly  ever  merely 
borrowed  a  motif  from  epic  story  or  the 
more  familiar  scenes  of  tragedy.  He  intro- 
duces, omits,  recombines,  according  to  his 
fancy  and  the  limits  of  his  material. 

That  is  just  what  Pindar  or  Sophocles 
did,  too,  in  a  lordlier  way.  For  instance, 
Pindar,  retelling  the  whole  Pelops-myth, 
after  a  new  fashion,  in  the  first  Olympian, 
says:  "I  cannot  call  one  of  the  blessed 
Gods  a  cannibal!"  Plutarch  has  been 
called  unscientific  for  proposing  to  omit 
certain  lines  from  Homer  on  purely  sub- 
jective and  ethical  grounds.  Yet  not  only 
a  Pindar  or  a  Plato  shows  sympathy  with 
such  criticism.  The  great  Aristarchos  him- 
self, prince  of  textual  critics,  it  will  be 
recalled,  struck  out  two  lines  from  the  Iliad 
solely  because  they  ascribed  to  Thetis  a 
sentiment  unworthy  of  ideal  motherhood. 


248       ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

If  we  should  begin  to  tell  to  a  child  the 
complete  tale  of  Troy  in  systematic  fashion, 
as  Apollodoros  has  done  in  meagre  prose, 
or  Andrew  Lang  in  his  delightful  poem, 
Helen  of  Troy,  we  should  start  perhaps  after 
this  fashion  :  "At  Peleus'  and  Tlietis'  wed- 
ding the  unbidden  guest  Eris  cast  among  the 
divinities  an  apple  inscribed,  ry  /caXXtVrT?" 
(For  the  Fairest),  etc.  And,  by  the  way, 
this  wedding  of  Thetis,  with  the  presence 
of  the  gods  there,  may  serve  as  an  instruc- 
tive illustration  of  our  two  truisms. 

Possibly  our  earliest  authority  for  the 
whole  subject  is  —  not  a  literary  account  at 
all  but  —  the  famous  Francois  vase,  which 
plays  also  so  large  a  part  in  the  history 
of  ancient  vase-painting  and  epigraphy. 
Furthermore,  the  most  vivid  and  poetical 
summary  of  the  various  details  is  found  in 
Catullus'  longest  poem.  Yet  even  within 
these  four  hundred  and  eight  lines  are  con- 
cealed startling  combinations.  For  instance, 
Peleus  the  Argonaut  and  Thetis  the  Xereid 
first  behold  each  other  when  that  earliest 
of  vessels,  created  with  magic  powers  under 
Pallas'    own  guidance,   first    disturbs    the 


ACCRETIONS    TO    THE    TROY-MYTH      249 

waters  till  then  untraversed  by  ships.  The 
youthful  mariner,  leaning  over  the  rail, 
and  the  sea-nymph,  rising  to  the  surface 
with  her  inquisitive  sisters,  gaze  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  are  fired  with  love  at  the 
first  glance.  Yet  upon  the  coverlet  of  their 
bridal  bed  is  embroidered  the  desertion  of 
Ariadne  by  Theseus.  That  is,  the  gradual 
growth  of  the  Greek  marine,  the  rise  of 
Cretan  power,  the  conquest  of  Athens,  and 
imposition  of  human  tribute,  the  voyages 
and  adventures  of  Theseus,  lay  between. 
The  courtship  of  the  impetuous  Nereid 
must  evidently  have  lasted,  then,  from  two 
to  three  hundred  years.  Such  are  the  diffi- 
culties of  classic  poet  or  modern  scholar 
who  attempts  to  weave  mythic  materials 
into  any  connected  patchwork. 

Thetis'  wedding,  we  said,  is  the  natural 
starting-point,  now,  for  the  Tale  of  Helen. 
But  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  Judgment  of 
Paris  is  mentioned  only  in  two  verses  of 
Iliad,  XXIV.,  a  late  book ;  and  these  verses, 
29-30,  are  themselves  an  awkward  inter- 
polation. 


250       ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

.  ,  .  WTio  did  the  goddesses  anger  when 
they  had  entered  his  courtyard  ; 

Her  he  approved  who  indulged  his  fatal 
wantonness  for  him. 

The  latter  half  of  the  preceding  line,  "  Be- 
cause of  the  madness  of  Paris,"  occurs 
repeatedly  elsewhere  in  the  Iliad,  but  refer- 
ring always  merely  to  Paris'  sin  in  carrying 
off  Helen.  This  is,  in  fact,  as  was  said 
elsewhere,  the  first  link  in  the  chain  of  evils 
known  to  the  poet  of  the  Iliad.  The  later 
Cyprian  Epic,  written  expressly  to  ascribe 
more  adequate  causes  for  the  war,  pieced 
on  the  famous  introduction  :  and,  still  later, 
a  rhapsode  probably  interpolated  this  awk- 
ward couplet  into  the  Iliad,  thus  giving, 
ignorantly  or  wilfully,  a  perverse  twist  to 
verse  28. 

Again,  Hecab^'s  dream,  the  night  before 
Paris'  birth,  that  she  bore,  not  a  child,  but 
a  firebrand  that  set  all  Troy-town  in  flames, 
can  hardly  be  traced  to  an  earlier  author 
than  Euripides.  The  passage  is  in  his 
Troades  (919-922).  Helen,  accused  by  the 
queen-mother,  is  making  one  of  those  long 
clever  retorts  in  which  Euripides  delights, 


ACCRETIOXS    TO    THE    TROY-MYTH      25 1 

and  striving  to  lay  the  whole  blame  for  the 
war  upon  poor  old  Hecab6  herself,  and  upon 
Priam. 

"She  first  produced  the  author  of  these  woes, 
In  bearing  Paris.     Next  the  aged  king 
Ruined  me  and  Troy,  when  he  slew  not  the 

babe, 
The  firebrand's  hateful  image,  Alexandros." 

Of  course  Euripides  may  not  have  been  the 
first  to  invent  this  dream.  Indeed,  he  speaks 
of  it  here  as  of  something  familiarly  known. 
But  Homer  would  hardly  have  failed  to 
touch  upon  it,  if  known  to  him,  in  the 
many  bitter  denunciations  of  Paris.  Eurip- 
ides treated  parts  of  the  Trojan  legend  in 
more  than  half  his  extant  plays,  and  in 
many  others  now  known  only  from  frag- 
ments. Undoubtedly  he  added  many  clever 
touches  to  the  story.  This  whole  tale  of 
Alexander's  (or  Paris')  childhood,  his  expo- 
sure on  Mount  Ida,  the  life  among  the 
shepherds,  his  rediscovery  and  restoration 
to  the  royal  palace,  were  treated  by  Euripi- 
des in  a  special  play,  Alexandros,  of  which 
little  remains. 


252      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

Homer,  again,  does  not  say  the  Greek 
princes  were  all  Helen's  suitors,  and  had 
bound  themselves  by  oath  to  rescue  her  if 
taken  from  the  husband  of  her  choice  (or 
of  her  father's  choice).  Thucydides  (I.  9) 
saw  that  the  story  of  the  oath  was  incredi- 
ble, and  suggested  that  the  heroes  were 
really  Agamemnon's  vassals.  This  is  clearly 
not  true  of  the  Homeric  Achilles,  who  is 
free  to  go  or  to  stay  in  Troy,  and  who  says 
haughtily  that  he  came  merely  to  gratify 
the  Atreidse  (Iliad,  I.  152-160).  The  story 
of  the  oath  in  some  form  is,  however,  as  old 
as  Hesiod,  who,  in  a  lost  work,  gave  a  cata- 
logue of  Helen's  suitors.  This  did  not  in- 
clude Achilles  (Pausanias,  III.  24. 10).  Eu- 
ripides makes  him  one  in  his  play,  Helena 
(vs.  99).  "He  came  as  Helen's  suitor,  we 
have  heard. "  No  passage,  however,  even  of 
Euripides,  could  carry  less  presumption  of 
antiquity.  Euripides  in  this  play  as  a  whole 
introduces  the  boldest  of  variations  from 
the  Trojan  story  even  as  told  by  himself 
in  earlier  dramas  !  In  particular,  Helen 
never  goes  to  Troy  at  all,  but  is  detained 
in  Egj'pt,  while  the  heroes  slay  each  other 


ACCRETIONS    TO    THE    TROY-MYTIl      253 

in  the  Troad  over  a  mere  eidolon  in  her 
guise. 

Whatever  the  force  that  gathered  and 
holds  together  the  great  armament,  the 
commander-in-chief,  Menelaos'  brother 
Agamemnon,  is  quite  overshadowed  by 
Acliilles,  the  resistless  son  of  Thetis  the 
sea-nymph  :  but  that  she  had  been  vv^ooed 
by  Zeus  and  other  gods,  and  given  instead 
to  the  mortal  Peleus  because  destined  to 
bear  a  son  mightier  than  his  father,  is  first 
stated  by  Pindar :  (Isthmian,  VIII.  30-44) 
imless  we  regard  the  appearance  of  Zeus 
and  the  other  gods  at  a  mortal's  wedding, 
represented  upon  the  Frangois  vase,  as 
earlier  testimony  to  the  same  effect. 

The  son,  as  he  is  himself  aware,  is  des- 
tined to  a  long  and  peaceful,  or  to  a  brief 
and  glorious  existence  (Iliad,  IX.  410-416). 
There  is  a  pretty  story  that  his  father  there- 
fore sent  Achilles  off  to  the  island  of  Skyros, 
where  he  was  dressed  and  educated  as  a 
girl  among  the  king's  daughters  :  a  strange 
transition  from  the  wild  life  among  the 
Thessalian  hills,  where  he  speared  lions  as 
he  galloped  on  the  centaur  Cheiron's  back. 


254       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

(The  shifting  scenes  in  Achilles'  brief  life 
are  very  happily  indicated  upon  a  late  re- 
lief in  the  form  of  a  well-curb,  which  is  in 
the  Capitoline  Museum.)  To  Skyros,  when 
the  band  goes  forth  for  the  war,  he  is 
tracked  by  Odysseus,  who  discovers  his 
identity  by  a  shrewd  device.  Amid  a  bas- 
ketful of  jewels  and  trinkets  offered  to  the 
princesses,  a  gleaming  sword  is  concealed. 
When  the  fairest  among  the  young  girls  — 
for  such  the  youthful  figure  seemed  —  ap- 
proaches in  turn  to  choose,  the  flash  of  the 
brand  catches  the  eye,  and  betrays  the  sex, 
of  Peleus'  child.  The  scene  where  Achilles 
is  just  drawing  forth  the  shining  blade  is 
represented  in  numerous  works  of  art,  an- 
cient and  modern.  (Besides  the  "well- 
curb"  just  mentioned,  see  especially  the 
fine  Pompeian  wall  painting,  which  is  out- 
lined in  Baumeister's  Denkmaler  des  Clas- 
sischen  Alterthums,  Plate  L.) 

This  romantic  story  cannot  be  clearly 
traced  farther  back  than  Sophocles'  play, 
The  Skyrian  Women,  of  which  very  little 
is  preserved.  It  seems  clearly  the  inven- 
tion of  a  more  romantic  age  than  Homer's, 


ACCRETIONS    TO    THE    TROY-MYTH      255 

perhaps  devised  to  explain  an  allusion  of 
the  youthful  Achilles  (Iliad,  XIX.  326)  to  a 
"dear  son  who  is  growing  up  in  Skyros." 
The  later  legend  makes  Achilles  the  father 
of  Neoptolemos,  when  himself  hardly  in  his 
teens,  by  one  of  the  Skyrian  princesses,  his 
playmates.  But  Leaf  and  other  editors 
would  expunge  all  allusions  to  Neoptolemos 
from  the  Iliad  as  late  interpolations. 

Perhaps  these  examples  may  suffice  to 
indicate  the  manner  in  which  constant  ac- 
cretions to  and  modifications  of  the  Troy 
legend  appear  from  age  to  age.  It  would 
be  especially  interesting  to  trace  throughout 
the  Hellenic  period  the  figure  of  Achilles. 
He  seems  to  have  been  regarded,  possibly 
even  from  early  times,  as  a  type  of  the 
youthful  beauty  and  chivalric  courage  which 
the  race  ascribed  to  itself.  The  more  mys- 
tical belief,  indeed,  of  a  later  time  could 
not  accept  the  Homeric  story,  that  he  had 
ever  passed  to  the  sunless  land  of  ghosts. 
Instead,  the  fable  arose  that  at  Thetis' 
prayer  the  "  White  Island "  was  created 
for  his  abode  in  the  far  eastern  seas  ;  and 
there  he  yet  tarries,  fittingly  mated  with 


256      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Helen,  and  still  gathering  about  him  the 
gallant  friends  who  had  been  his  comrades 
before  Troy.  This  fancy,  though  it  con- 
tradicts Homer  himself,  I  for  one  refuse 
to  relinquish.  The  only  Achilles  who  ever 
existed  for  me  is  living  to-day  in  the  fair 
Orient  island  of  Homeric  poetry. 

The  most  remarkable  instance,  however, 
of  a  transplanted  myth  is  the  Roman  belief 
in  ^neas  as  the  founder  of  their  race.  This 
belief  it  seems  worth  our  while  to  trace  out 
in  somewhat  fuller  detail.  There  is  no  clear 
intimation  in  the  Hiad  that  ^neas  ever 
left  Asia.  Homer  says  (Iliad,  XXH.  306- 
307)  :  — 

Now  shall  the  mighty  ^neas  be  ruler  over 

the  Trojans, 
He,  and  his  children's  children,  who  shall 

be  hereafter  begotten. 

It  may  well  have  been  pure  accident  that 
he  did  not  say  "at  Troy"  or  *'in  the 
Troad."  Whoever  wrote  these  lines  evi- 
dently knew  of  a  royal  race,  ruling  presum- 
ably in  the  Troad,  which  claimed  descent 


ACCRETIONS    TO    THE    TROY-MYTII      257 

from  ^neas.  There  is  no  hint  of  an  emi- 
gration. 

Arctinos,  one  of  the  "  Cyclic  "  poets  who 
in  the  ninth  and  eighth  centuries  b.c.  pieced 
out  Homer's  story,  says  (Kinkel,  Frag- 
menta  Epicorum  Grsecorum,  p.  49)  that 
^neas  and  his  associates,  horrified  by  La- 
ocoon's  death,  fled  to  Ida  the  day  before 
Troy  fell.  According  to  Lesches,  who 
wrote  a  rival  supplement,  called  the  Lit- 
tle Iliad,  ^neas  shared  with  Andromache 
the  lot  of  slavery  under  Neoptolemos.  We 
shall  see  still  a  third  legend  traced  to  the 
early  lyric  poet  Stesichoros ;  namely,  that 
^neas  escaped  by  sea  and  emigrated  to 
' '  Hesperia. ' '  Virgil  attempts  a  sort  of  con- 
cordance of  all  these  ancient  statements ; 
but  they  show  that  the  post-Homeric  folk 
had  no  knowledge  or  tradition  at  all  on  the 
subject. 

Sophocles,  in  his  lost  drama,  Laocoon,  is 
the  first,  so  far  as  we  know,  to  give  the  famous 
picture  of  ^neas  carrying  his  father :  — 

Now  at  the  portal  of  the  goddess  stands 
^aSneas  with  his  father  on  his  shoulders,  — 


258       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Over  whose  smitten  back  a  linen  cloak 
Doth  flow,  —  and  round  about  the  house- 
hold throng. 
Nor  yet  so  great  a  multitude  is  gathered 
Of  Phrygians,  who  this  emigration  crave. 

Whither  Sophocles  sent  them  we  do  not 
know. 

The  statement  that  two  towns  in  Sicily, 
Eryx  and  Segesta,  were  founded  by  Trojan 
wanderers,  appears  as  early  as  Thucydides, 
who  died  about  400  b.c.  (Thuc.  VI.  2.  See 
also  Cicero  against  Verres,  IV.  33,  72,  with 
Long's  note,  Cic.  Orat.  Vol.  I.  p.  481). 

The  earliest  attempts  to  connect  Eome 
with  any  illustrious  heroes  of  Oriental  myth 
were  apparently  made  by  Greeks,  eager  to 
flatter  the  coming  race,  or  to  soften  the 
shame  of  subjugation  by  barbarians.  There 
is  a  perfect  labyrinth  of  interwoven  or  con- 
tradictory legends  on  the  subjects.  Dionysios 
traced  out  most  of  them.  The  Evander- 
myth  is  gracefully  used  by  Virgil.  One 
story  joined  two  famous  wanderers,  Odys- 
seus and  -^neas,  in  the  enterprise.  Heracles 
also  was  early  made  to  extend  his  wander- 
ings to  Latium.     These  attempts  are  not  in 


ACCRETIONS    TO    THE    TIIUY-MYTII       259 

themselves  unnatural.  Real  early  colonies, 
like  Cumae,  may  have  suggested  mythical 
predecessors.  There  was  even  an  actual 
kinship,  of  course,  between  Italic  and  Hel- 
lenic races,  of  which  a  faint  consciousness 
may  have  lingered  still. 

But  it  will  always  seem  strange  that  the 
representative  of  the  sinful  and  vanquished 
race  was  finally  accepted  as  the  true  ances- 
tor, rather  than  e.gr.,  Ulysses,  whose  son  by 
Circe,  Telegonus,  is  mentioned  in  Horace 
as  founder  of  the  neighbouring  Tibur.  How- 
ever, Eneas'  high  character  in  the  Iliad, 
his  escape  and  mysterious  survival,  made 
him  a  tempting  subject.  The  westward 
spread  of  Aphrodite's  worship  carried  with 
it  her  son's  fame.  Possibly  the  influence 
of  Cumse  was  also  helpful,  for  the  elder 
Kyme,  in  Asia,  was  Troy's  neighbour,  and  a 
sort  of  heir  to  her  traditions.  There  may 
have  been  also  a  direct  influence  from  the 
Sicilian  cities,  especially  in  the  first  Punic 
war. 

The  Romulus-myth  was  accepted  some- 
what earlier  among  the  Romans,  It  con- 
tradicted the  ^neas-legend,   and  so  was 


260       ART    AXD    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

undoubtedly  quite  independent  of  it.  It 
was  itself  needful  as  a  link  with  Alba. 
That  ancient  head  of  the  Latin  League, 
though  long  ago  destroyed,  was  kept  in 
memory  through  the  recurring  sacrifices  by 
the  Latins  on  the  Alban  Mount.  Hence 
the  tale  of 

Silvius  Procas  (King  of  Alba), 
I 

Numitor,     Amulius, 

Rhea  Silvia, 
I 

Romulus,      Remus. 

The  bronze  wolf  nursing  the  twins  was  set 
up  in  296  b.c.  (It  is  perhaps  a  later  copy 
that  is  now  in  the  Capitoline  Museum.) 

But  not  long  afterward  Eastern  conquest 
caused  the  Romans  to  see  a  use  for  such  an 
ancestry  through  ^Eneas.  The  junction 
with  the  Romulus-myth  is  at  first  very 
awkward.  Since  both  could  not  found 
Rome,  ^neas  is  made  father  of  Romulus, 
— or  of  Romulus'  mother.  (So  both  Naevius 
and  Ennius.)     Dionysios  seems  to  credit 


ACCRETIONS    TO    THE    TROY-MYTH      261 

these  stories  to  the^  annals  of  the  pontifices 
as  their  earliest  source.  The  boys  were  en- 
trusted, it  was  said,  to  the  childless  king 
Latinus,  and  won  his  love  and  at  last  his 
heritage. 

But  by  Cato's  time  (ob.  148  e.g.)  Ro- 
mans had  noted  the  great  gap  between 
Troy's  fall  (1184  b.c.  according  to  the 
Greeks)  and  Rome's  foundation  (753  b.c. 
by  their  own  reckoning).  So  the  Alban 
kings  must  fill  this  gap  with  their  shadowy 
line,  dimmer,  and  certainly  less  real,  than 
Banquo's  descendant's.  Some  of  them 
may  have  existed  before  in  the  local  Alban 
tradition, — possibly  even  in  the  flesh. 

This  modification  of  the  ^neas-myth 
had  at  times  an  influence  on  Roman  polit- 
ical action,  and  of  course  formed  the  cor- 
ner-stone for  the  greatest  of  Latin  epics. 
It  is  especially  interesting,  therefore,  to 
note  that  the  earliest  authority  we  can 
discern  for  any  emigration  of  iEneas  west- 
ward is  Stesichoros,  a  Sicilian  poet  about 
600  B.C. ;  and  for  our  knowledge  of  this 
important  fact  we  are  indebted  to  no  direct 
literary  tradition  at  all,  but  to  a  work  of 


262       ART    AND    HUxMAXITY    IX    HOMER 

art.  Furthermore,  the  .relief  in  question 
is  not  archaic,  nor  even  of  a  good  classical 
period,  bat  a  late  Roman  work,  probably 
nothing  better  than  a  mnemonic  school- 
tablet  recalling  the  chief  scenes  of  the  Tro- 
jan war.  The  central  group  of  pictures 
upon  this  tablet  (the  well-known  Tabula 
Iliaca)  represents  the  destruction  of  Troy, 
^neas  aj)pears  in  three  successive  scenes, 
the  last  time  just  embarking  upon  his  ship. 
The  inscription  for  this  latter  group  reads  : 
"JEneaswith  his  folk  setting  off  for  Hes- 
peria,"  while  the  chief  central  inscription 
is:  "The  destruction  of  Hios  according  to 
Stesichoros." 

Thus  a  tasteless  Roman  relief,  which 
perhaps  stood  in  just  such  a  smoky,  com- 
fortless schoolroom  as  Juvenal  describes, 
has,  by  some  happy  chance,  drifted  down 
to  us  ;  and  from  this  alone  is  supplied  the 
first  link  for  the  connection  between  the 
greatest  of  Greek  legends  and  the  leading 
myth  of  the  Italian  world,  —  a  closing  illus- 
tration of  a  thesis  which  needed  no  demon- 
stration :  "All  are  needed  by  each  one." 


APPENDIX 

SYLLABUS  FOR  A  COURSE  OF  SIX 
LECTURES  ON  THE  LITERARY 
STUDY    OF    HOMER 

Introductory   Note 

npHE  chief  preparation  for  any  special 
-^  study  upon  the  Homeric  poems,  should 
be,  naturally,  a  careful  reading  of  the  poems 
themselves.  The  present  course  of  lectures 
will  partly  presuppose  —  partly  undertake 
to  accompany  and  encourage  —  such  a  read- 
ing. The  lecturer  will  devote  his  time 
rather  to  sympathetic  interpretation  than 
to  analytical  criticism. 

The  translation  of  the  Iliad  into  some- 
what archaic  English  prose,  by  three  Eng- 
lish scholars,  Lang,  Leaf,  and  Myers,  is  to 
be  recommended.  The  similar  translation 
of  the  Odyssey,  by  Professor  Butcher  and 
263 


264      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Mr.  Lang,  is  still  more  widely  known.  We 
prefer,  however,  the  simpler  version  in 
"rhythmical  prose"  by  Professor  G.  H. 
Palmer. 

The  famous  versions  of  Chapman  and 
Pope  are  English  classics,  and  as  such  are 
deserving  of  all  attention  and  study.  They 
are  not  at  all  trustworthy  interpreters  of 
the  words,  or  the  ideas,  of  Homer.  Of  the 
many  more  recent  and  comparatively  faith- 
ful poetical  versions,  Bryant's,  in  blank 
verse,  is  the  most  accessible,  and  is  not 
seriously  misleading,  the  original  being 
rather  diluted  than  distorted.  Bryant's 
worst  mistake  was  in  substituting  the 
names  of  Roman  gods  for  the  Greek  names. 
Lord  Derby's  version,  also,  is  of  interest. 
The  renderings  of  the  entire  Odyssey  and 
half  the  Iliad  in  Spenserian  stanzas,  by  the 
late  Mr.  Worsley,  are  marvels  of  ingenuity 
and  grace.  The  version  of  the  Iliad  was 
creditably  completed  by  Professor  Couing- 
ton.  Though  of  course  in  no  sense  literal, 
these  renderings  are  nearer  to  the  originals 
than  would  seem  possible  under  such  diffi- 
cult   conditions.      Copious    and    judicious 


APPENDIX  265 

selections  from  most  of  these,  and  from 
several  other  Homeric  translators,  will  he 
found  in  the  attractive  volume  recently 
published  by  Professor  Appleton  of  Swarth- 
more,  Greek  Poets  in  English  Verse.  Mr. 
Way's  versions  of  Iliad  and  Odyssey  in  hex- 
ameters are  little  known  in  this  country, 
but  are  most  warmly  praised  by  Prof. 
Moulton. 

Under  sympathetic  criticism,  perhaps  the 
famous  essays  of  Matthew  Arnold,  On 
Translating  Homer,  still  deserve  the  lead- 
ing place.  The  lecturer  remembers,  how- 
ever, that  he  was  himself  originally  most 
indebted,  for  stimulus  toward  the  literary 
study  of  the  poems,  to  the  late  Mr.  J.  A. 
Symonds'  essays  in  his  Greek  Poets. 
But  for  all  serious  students  the  masterly 
little  volume  of  Professor  Jebb,  Introduc- 
tion to  the  Study  of  Homer,  is  indispensa- 
ble. It  is  doubtless  unequalled  in  any 
language,  and  though  intended  especially 
for  classical  students,  is  for  the  most  part 
quite  intelligible  to  all. 

Mr.  Lang's  co-translator,  Professor  Wal- 
ter Leaf,  has  published   a   Companion  to 


266      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

the  Iliad,  intended  to  be  used  with  their 
joint  version.  This  gives  nearly  all  the 
material  available  for  a  careful  detailed 
study  of  the  poem  in  English.  Mr.  Leaf 
is,  hovs^ever,  a  rather  advanced  radical  on 
the  "Homeric  Question."  That  is,  he  be- 
lieves, not  only  that  the  present  Iliad  is  the 
work  of  various  hands,  but  that  the  succes- 
sive strata  can  still  be  accurately  distin- 
guished and  pointed  out.  Mr.  Lang  is,  on 
the  contrary,  the  most  conservative  among 
competent  living  students  of  Homer.  His 
Btout  volume  Homer  and  the  Epic  often 
takes  the  form  of  a  rejoinder  to  Mr.  Leaf. 
A  certain  diffuseness  was  doubtless  inevi- 
tably inherent  in  the  subject,  —  perhaps  in 
Mr.  Lang's  nature  as  well.  Though  the 
most  scholarly  of  his  many  books,  it  has  a 
goodly  share  of  his  wit  and  grace.  Mr. 
Lang  defends  the  essential  unity  of  author- 
ship in  the  Iliad,  —  though  not  without 
some  concessions.  The  opening  chapters 
of  the  two  friendly  foemen  state  the  case 
at  issue  very  clearly.  The  present  lecturer 
is  in  reluctant  agreement  with  Mr.  Leaf  and 
Professor  Jebb  in  their  general  theory. 


APPENDIX  267 

Any  student  who  desires  to  follow  farther 
the  lines  of  thought  suggested  by  the  fifth 
lecture,  will  find  the  most  faithful  versions 
of  foreign  authors  to  be  the  most  useful. 
Plato's  Republic  is  delightfully  rendered  in 
the  Golden  Treasury  series,  by  Davies  and 
Vaughan.  Conington's  prose  version  of 
the  ^neid  is  now  accessible  apart  from  his 
other  works.  The  translations  of  Dante, 
by  Professor  Norton  in  prose,  and  by  Long- 
fellow in  verse,  are  familiar  to  all.  Upon 
the  question  of  Hades  and  its  location 
much  curious  and  recondite  material,  and 
a  plausible  solution  of  the  problem,  are  con- 
tained in  the  book  of  President  William 
F.  Warren,  of  Boston  University,  called 
Paradise  Found. 

The  subject  of  the  last  lecture  is  better 
adapted  for  enjoyment  than  for  analytical 
study.  The  artistic  charm  of  Nausicaa  is, 
however,  excellently  brought  out  in  an 
unpretentious  essay  by  Charles  Dudley 
Warner,  entitled  Simplicity.  (Atlantic 
Monthly,  March,  1889.) 

Some  older  students  may  wish  to  revive 
an    earlier   acquaintance    with   the    Greek 


268      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

text.  They  will  find  the  small  Clarendon 
Press  editions  convenient  and  well  anno- 
tated (Iliad, by  Monro ;  Odyssey,  by  Merry). 
The  larger  and  rather  expensive  edition  of 
the  Iliad  by  Professor  Leaf  is  one  of  the 
best  productions  of  English  scholarship. 

But  little  reference  will  be  made  to  the 
archgeological  questions  raised  by  Dr.  Schlie- 
mann's  striking  discoveries  at  Troy,  My- 
kense,  and  Tiryns.  The  recent  book  by 
Schuchhardt,  translated  by  Miss  Eugenie 
Sellars,  will  be  found  more  convenient  and 
compact  than  Dr.  Schliemann's  own  costly 
volumes.  The  excavations  on  the  site  of 
Troy  are  still  incomplete,  and  the  dis- 
coveries have  raised  more  problems  than 
they  have  solved.  The  final  report  upon 
these  investigations,  by  Dr.  Dorpfeld,  is 
eagerly  awaited. 

Grote  is  still  unrivalled  as  a  historian  of 
Greece,  and  his  chapters  upon  Homer,  in 
particular,  are  even  now  of  prominence 
and  weight  in  every  discussion  of  the  sub- 
ject. But  his  history  needs,  in  nearly  every 
part,  re-editing,  in  the  light  of  the  great 
advance,  since  his  day,  in  our  knowledge 


APPENDIX  269 

of  classical  antiquity.  To  understand  bet- 
ter the  general  nature  of  Greek  life  and 
literary  art,  Jebb's  Primer  of  Greek  Lit- 
erature, or  his  Classical  Greek  Poetry, 
should  be  read  with  care  by  the  beginner. 
The  larger  Manual  in  most  general  use  is 
doubtless  Jevons'  History  of  Greek  Liter- 
ature. This  contains  too  much  polemic 
discussion,  too  little  sympathetic  interpre- 
tation; but  it  is  carefully  and  ably  written. 
All  such  handbooks  are  safer  after  an 
acquaintance  with  the  master-works  them- 
selves. 

Upon  nearly  every  field  of  classical 
studies,  a  helpful  cross-light  is  constantly 
thrown  by  the  monuments  of  ancient  art. 
Even  a  student  ignorant  of  German  will 
find  the  thousands  of  illustrations  in  Bau- 
meister's  Denkmaler  most  instructive.  In 
numberless  cases  they  show  clearly  the  con- 
ceptions formed  by  the  historical  Greeks 
of  their  heroic  ancestors.  Of  the  scanty 
direct  illustrations  dating  from  the  Homeric 
age  itself,  Schuchhardt's  volume  contains 
nearly  everything  of  importance. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  a  whole 


270      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 

library  of  books  and  essays  exists,  treating 
from  all  possible  sides  the  numberless  prob- 
lems suggested  by  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey. 
Detailed  investigations  are  still  going  on, 
especially  in  Germany.  They  are  largely 
philological  in  character,  and  any  real 
understanding  of  them  requires  familiar 
knowledge  of  both  Greek  and  German. 
For  the  aesthetic  appreciation  of  the  poems, 
as  poetry,  the  latest  results  of  German 
scholarship  are  less  indispensable. 


LECTURE   I 

THE    ILIAD    AS    A    WORK   OF    ART 

The  Greeks  possessed  pre-eminently  the 
artistic  power,  and  a  sense  of  harmony 
and  enjoyment  in  life.  Homer  was  the 
Bible,  and  the  primer,  of  later  Greece. 
The  Marvellous  is  the  most  prominent  ele- 
ment in  the  Iliad.  Hardly  any  historical 
facts  can  be  culled  from  the  poem.  The 
local  geography  is  right ;  but  the  story 
seems  purely  ideal.     Homer's  individuality 


APPENDIX  271 

is  quite  lost :  but  he  was  certainly  a  con- 
scious artist,  probably  a  courtly  minstrel. 

This  detachment  from  history  perfects 
the  poem  artistically.  The  Iliad  satisfies 
the  three  chief  canons :  unity,  truthfulness, 
beauty. 

Many  features  of  the  myth  now  familiar 
were  unknown  to  the  Iliad.  An  outline  of 
the  plot  shows  opportunities  for  an  expan- 
sion of  the  poem  by  successive  hands.  Grote 
saw  in  it  an  original  epic  Achilleid,  enlarged 
to  an  Iliad.  Scholars  are  coming  nearer  to 
essential  agreement  along  that  general  line. 
An  analogy  may  be  drawn  from  the  kindred 
art  of  architecture,  where  unity  of  design 
does  not  prove  unity  of  authorship. 

SUGGESTIONS    FOR    PAPERS 

1.  Does  the  poem  on  the  whole  fulfil  the 
announcement  of  the  opening  lines  ? 

2.  Is  the  interest  of  the  reader  diverted, 
exhausted,  or  stimulated,  by  the  retardation 
of  the  crisis  ? 

3.  Do  you  discern,  in  a  connected  read- 
ing, excrescences  which  mar  the  outline  of 
the  plot  ? 


272      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

4.  Is  the  general  spirit  of  the  poem  elevat- 
ing in  spite  of  the  bloody  battle  scenes  ? 

5.  Do  you  feel  the  workings  of  essential 
justice  despite  the  quarrelling  of  the  gods  ? 

6.  Do  you  catch  any  glimpses  of  the  poet 
behind  his  work  ? 


LECTURE   II 

WOMANHOOD    IX    THE    ILIAD 

Tlie  chief  passages  for  this  subject  are  to 
be  found  in  Books  III.,  VI.,  XXII.  (and 
XXIV.).  Homer's  women  are  not  por- 
traits, but  ideal  types.  The  Greeks  are 
homeless,  and  of  the  women-captives  in 
their  camp  we  catch  but  a  few  vivid 
glimpses.  Within  the  city  we  meet  repeat- 
edly Hecab6,  Helen,  Andromache.  The 
great  series  of  domestic  scenes  in  VI.  seems 
hardly  in  its  proper  place.  Hector  should 
not  return  repeatedly,  alive,  after  this  part- 
ing. 

Our  regard  for  Hecabfe  is  weakened  by 
her  acceptance  of  polygamy,  and  any  sym- 
pathy felt  for  Helen  is  quite  overshadowed 


APPENDIX  273 

by  her  sin.  Andromache  typifies  most  ef- 
fectively the  pathos  of  woman's  lot  in  war. 
As  a  wife,  she  may  appeal  more  powerfully 
to  us  than  to  the  Greeks.  The  idealization 
of  motherhood  is  not  Hecab6,  but  Thetis. 
All  these  figures  are,  however,  duly  subsid- 
iary to  the  epic  plot. 

SUGGESTIONS    FOR    PAPERS 

1.  Is  Aphrodite,  to  Homer,  a  real  person, 
or  only  passionate  love  personified  ? 

2.  Does  the  poet  forget  Troy's  sin  in  his 
sympathy  for  Hector  and  Andromache  ? 

3.  Does  the  poet  deliberately  undermine 
our  sympathy  for  Hecabe  ? 

4.  Is  the  prominence  and  freedom  of 
Homer's  women  greater  than  is  credible 
for  so  violent  an  age  ? 

5.  How  far  was  Helen  responsible  at  the 
beginning  ? 

6.  Is  Helen  truly  repentant  at  any  time  ? 

7.  Do  you  believe  the  same  poet  who 
wrote,  e.f/.,  Iliad  III.,  could  have  represented 
Helen  happy,  honoured,  and  womanly,  at 
home  in  Sparta,  years  later,  as  she  appears 
in  the  Odyssey  ? 


274      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN    HOMER 

LECTURE   III 

ACHILLES    AND   PRIAM. THE   CLOSE    OF    THE 

ILIAD 

The  last  book  of  the  Iliad  is  almost  a  com- 
plete drama  in  itself.  The  opening  lines 
are  like  an  explanatory  prologue.  Then  all 
the  divine  agencies  are  set  in  motion  to 
bring  Priam  and  Achilles  together.  Thetis, 
Iris,  Hermes,  are  all  busy  as  messengers. 
Hermes  in  person  escorts  the  old  king. 

The  culmination  of  agony  and  humiliation 
is  reached,  when  the  suppliant  Priam  kisses 
the  hand  which  slew  Hector  and  his  other 
sons.  The  approaching  doom  of  both  Achil- 
les and  Priam  throws  a  blacker  shadow  over 
the  scene. 

It  would  have  been  inartistic  to  break  off 
abruptly  when  the  strain  upon  the  feelings 
is  most  intense.  The  return  to  Troy  and 
the  rites  over  Hector  are,  in  some  degree,  an 
anti-climax,  but  a  necessary  one.  The  last 
line  sums  up  the  poem.  The  sole  bulwark 
of  the  guilty  city  lies  buried.  The  wrath  of 
men  has  worked  out  the  just  decrees  of  fate. 


APPENDIX  275 

SUGGESTIONS    FOR   PAPERS 

1.  Is  there  inconsistency,  or  only  devel- 
opment, between  the  wrathful  Achilles,  and 
Achilles  in  bereavement  ? 

2.  Do  books  like  VI.  and  XXIV.  show 
with  certainty  their  origin  in  a  later  and 
gentler  age  than  the  rest  of  the  poem  ? 

3.  Is  there  a  fatal  flaw  in  the  comparison 
to  a  cathedral,  as  used  to  illustrate  the 
possibility  of  manifold  authorship  in  an 
epic  like  the  Iliad  ? 

4.  Does  Homer  show  partiality  for  and 
against  his  own  characters,  e.g.,  Thersites, 
Diomedes,  ^neas,  Hecab6  ? 

5.  Does  the  artist  appear  to  you  to 
analyze  or  grasp  firmly  the  ethical  meaning 
of  his  own  scenes  ? 


LECTURE   IV 

THE    PLOT   OF   THE    ODYSSEY 

The  Odyssey  is  a  later  work  than  the 
Iliad,  from  which  it  frequently  borrows. 
The  poem  naturally  falls  apart  into  three 
sections  :    Books    I.-IV.,   Telemachos    in 


2/6       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

Ithaca,  and  abroad  searching  for  his  father  ; 
V.-XII.,  Odj^sseus'  adventures  until  he 
reaches  Ithaca;  XIII.-XXIV.,  meeting  of 
father  and  son,  and  the  restoration  of  both 
to  their  own.  The  adventurous  homeward 
voyage  of  Odysseus  has  gathered  around 
itself  many  tales  of  old  folk-lore  not  origi- 
nally told  of  this  particular  hero ;  and  it 
also  echoes,  to  some  extent,  the  reports  of 
early  Ionian  mariners  returning  from  dis- 
tant seas.  The  first  four  and  last  twelve 
books  are  comparatively  realistic.  The 
house  of  Odysseus,  for  instance,  can  be 
studied  with  some  profit  archseologically, 
beside  the  actual  "palace"  ruins  in  Tiryns. 
—  The  last  book  is  a  feeble  anti-climax 
where  none  was  needed,  and  was  rejected 
as  spurious  even  by  ancient  critics.  The 
contrast  with  the  conditions  at  the  close  of 
the  Hiad  is  instructive. 

SUGGESTIONS   FOR   PAPERS 

1.  Do  the  first  four  books  seem  to  be  a 
weaker  and  later  addition  ? 

2.  Is  the  council  of  gods  in  Book  I.  a 
mere  replica  of  that  in  Book  V.  ? 


APPENDIX  277 

3.  Where  can  Telemaclios  have  been 
during  his  father's  last  two  voyages  ? 

4.  Remark  on  striking  resemblances  be- 
tween any  myth  in  the  Odyssey  and  any 
folk-lore  tales  of  other  races  known  to  you. 


LECTURE   V 

THE    WORLD   OF    THE    DEAD,    IN    HOMER    AND 
OTHER   POETS 

This  is  a  study  of  the  Odyssey,  XI., 
supplemented  by  the  beginning  of  XXIV., 
and  slight  references  elsewhere  in  Iliad  and 
Odyssey.  A  difficult  problem  is  the  loca- 
tion of  Hades.  It  is  under  our  feet,  yet 
Odysseus  sails  there  in  a  ship.  Did  Homer 
know  the  earth  was  spherical  ?  Virgil 
(^Eneid,  VI.)  makes  ^Eneas  enter  a  cavern 
of  southern  Italy,  and  descend.  Dante 
begins  in  a  wood,  the  situation  of  which 
is  not  told,  and  then  descends  to  Hell. 
His  Purgatory,  however,  could  be  reached 
by  sea. 

Homer  loves  earthly  life  with  all  the 
fervour  of  happy  youth,  and  is  only  able 


278      ART    AND    HUMANITY    IN    HOMER 

to  imagine  a  pale,  unsatisfactory  reflection 
of  it  elsewhere.  Virgil  i^  more  affected  by 
Oriental  feeling,  and  describes  the  Under- 
world often  with  rapture.  To  Dante  the 
eternal  life  is  infinitely  more  vivid  and  real 
than  earthly  existence.  Plato  (Republic, 
Books  II. -III.)  reproves  Homer  sternly  for 
teaching  men  to  dread  death. 

SUGGESTIOXS    FOR    PAPERS 

1.  Is  Plato  justified  in  saying  the  reading 
of  Homerwouldtend  to  make  men  cowardly? 

2.  Do  the  dead  in  Homer  enjoy  any 
advantages  over  living  men  ? 

3.  Is  their  condition  made  more  pitiful 
by  their  ignorance  regarding  matters  in  the 
upper  world  ? 

4.  How  do  you  reconcile  Virgil's  two 
doctrines  taught  in  ^Eneid,  VI.;  transmigra- 
tion of  souls,  and  eternal  punishment  ? 

5.  Do  we  still,  to  any  extent,  regard  the 
great  poets  as  especially  inspired,  and  gifted 
with  larger  visions  of  life  and  death,  than 
other  men  ?  e.g.,  Does  Shakespeare's  Ham- 
let, or  Tennyson's  Crossing  the  Bar,  affect 
our  beliefs,  or  only  our  imaginations  ? 


APPENDIX  279 

LECTURE   VI 

NAUSICAA.     A   STUDY   OF   HOMERIC  GIRLHOOD 

Odysseus'  brief  stay  in  Scheria  is  the  cul- 
mination of  his  adventures  in  the  world  of 
enchantment.  The  Phaeacians  are  super- 
human, like  the  Giants  and  Cyclops.  They 
are  near  to,  and  in  familiar  intercourse  with, 
the  Olympian  gods.  Their  barks,  needing 
no  oar  or  sail,  follow  their  will,  "faster 
than  the  thought  of  man."  On  such  a 
vessel  they  bring  the  hero  home  at  last,  in  an 
all-night  voyage,  while  he  lies  in  dreamless 
sleep  (Odyssey,  XIII.) .  His  refusal  to  tarry 
even  here  in  Phseacia,  as  husband  of  a  lovely 
princess,  makes  clear  the  prevailing  motive 
of  the  whole  poem  :  love  of  home. 

The  meeting  of  Odysseus,  forsaken,  ship- 
wrecked, in  utter  exhaustion,  with  the 
happy,  imperious,  and  beautiful  maiden,  is 
the  boldest  use  of  contrast  in  all  Homer. 
The  poet  treats  her  with  exquisite  delicacy, 
drawing  her  with  a  simplicity  which  is  the 
highest  skill.  She  enjoys  in  his  song  the 
eternal  youth  of  art. 


280      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IN   HOMER 
SUGGESTIONS    FOR    PAPERS 

1 .  Are  there  any  touches  of  caricature  in 
the  account  of  the  Phseacians  ? 

2.  Is  Nausicaa  absolutely  natural  and 
childlike,  or  has  she  a  tinge  of  coquetry  ? 

3.  Does  this  episode  bear  either  the  marks 
of  purely  poetic  invention,  or  any  traces  of 
a  historical  foundation  ? 

4.  Is  the  passage  at  the  beginning  of 
Book  XIII.,  deliberately  intended  to  be 
taken  as  a  transition  from  fairyland  to 
reality  ? 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  28] 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

This  list  contains  all  the  books  discussed 
in  the  Introductory  Notes.  The  price  given 
is  the  publisher's,  or  "list"  price.  With 
the  exception  of  the  Macmillans'  pubUca- 
tions,  books  are  usually  to  be  had  at  a  dis- 
count of  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  per 
cent  from  these  prices.  The  most  useful 
works  for  the  student  are  starred  (*)  ;  those 
indispensable  for  careful  study  are  doubly 
starred  (**). 

GREEK    TEXTS,    WITH    NOTES 

Iliad,  edited  by  Monro,  2  vols.    Mac- 

millan $3  00 

Iliad,  edited  by  Leaf,  2  vols.     Mac- 

millan 8  00 

Odyssey,  edited  by  Merry,  2  vols. 

Macmillan 2  20 

Odyssey,  Books  I. -XII.,  edited  by 

Merry  and  Riddell.     Macmillan  .       4  00 

TRANSLATIONS 

Iliad,  by  Chapman.     Morley's  Uni- 
versal Library 40 


282       ART    AND    HUMANITY    IX    HOMER 

Iliad,  by  Pope.     Rutledge  ....  §1  25 

Iliad,  by  Worsley  and  Conington    .  21s. 

Iliad,  by  Derby.  Murray ....  $1  50 
Iliad,  by  Bryant.    Houghton,  Mifflin 

&  Co 2  50 

**  Iliad,  by  Lang,  Leaf,  and  Myers. 

Macmillan 1  50 

Iliad,  by  Way.     Sampson  Low  .     .  18s. 

Odyssey,  by  Worsley 12s. 

*  Odyssey,  by  Butcher   and  Lang, 

Macmillan 31  50 

**  Odyssey,  by  Palmer.     Houghton, 

Mifflin  &  Co.     .     .     .     $1 50  and       1  00 
Odyssey,  by  Bryant,  1  vol.     Hough- 
ton, Mifflin  &  Co 2  50 

Odyssey,  by  Way.     Sampson  Low    7s.  6d. 

*  Greek    Poets    in    English    Verse, 

by  W.  H.  Appleton.     Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co §1  50 

ELUCIDATIOX    OF    HOMER,    ETC. 

*  Matthew  Arnold's  Essays  in  Criti- 

cism.    Holt  &  Co 3  00 

*  Greek    Poets.     J.    A.    Symonds. 
Smith  and  Elder 3  50 

**  Introduction    to    the    Study    of 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  283 

Homer.      E.    C.   Jebb.     Ginii    & 

Co $1  12 

*  Companion  to  the  Iliad.     W.  Leaf. 

Macmillan 1  60 

*  Homer    and   the    Epic.     Andrew 

Lang.     Longmans 2  50 

GENERAL  WORKS  OF  REFERENCE 

Crete's  History  of  Greece,  Vols.  I.- 
XII.    Murray 17  50 

Holm's  History,  Vols.  I.  and  II.  Mac- 
millan       5  00 

Abbot's  History,  Vols.  I.-III.  Long- 
mans   31s.  6cZ. 

Curtius'  History,  Vols.  I.-III.  Bent- 
ley  £4 10s. 

Oman's  History  of  Greece      .     .     .     $1  50 

Primer  of  Greek  Literature.     Jebb. 

Am.  Book  Co 35 

History  of  Greek  Literature.  Jevons. 

(Reprint  by)  Scribners  ....       2  50 

Baumeister's  Denkmaler  des  Clas- 

sischeuAlterthums.  I.-III.  (about)    20  00 

MISCELLANEOUS 

Warren's  Paradise  Pound.  Hough- 
ton, Mifflin  &  Co 2  00 


284      ART    AND    HUMANITY   IX    HOMER 

Longfellow's  Dante,  3  vols.  Hough- 
ton, Mifflin  &  Co §4  50 

One  volume  edition.   Houghton, 

Mifflin  &  Co 2  50 

*  Norton's  Dante,   3  vols.     Hough- 

ton, Mifflin  &  Co 3  75 

*  Conington's  Prose  Translation  of 
Virgil.     Longmans 2  00 

Davies  and  Vaughan's  Republic  of 
Plato.  ("Golden  Treasury.") 
Macmillan 1  00 

*  Schliemann's   Excavations,  by  C. 

Schuchhardt.     Translated  by  Eu- 
genie Sellers.     Macmillan  ...      4  00 
New  Chapters  of  Greek  History,  by 

Percy  Gardner.     Putnam    ...       5  00 


Note.  —  The  author  has  permitted  him- 
self some  freedom  of  revision  in  reprinting 
this  syllabus.  In  the  present  volume,  parts 
of  the  fifth  lecture,  referring  to  Virgil  and 
Dante,  are  omitted.  (See  the  Atlantic 
Monthly  for  July,  1884.) 


lEnbot 

Homeros,  or  whatever  name  be  thine, 
Supreme  magician  of  primeval  song, 

Unrivalled  master  of  the  glorious  line 
That  rises,  rolls,  and  breaks,  as  free  and 
strong 
As  the  great  billows  on  a  lonely  beach ;  — 
If  earthly  voices  yet  may  hope  to  reach 
The  far  abodes  of  immortality. 
Forgive   him,    who    in   harsh    barbarian 

speech 
Would  echo  —  can  but  mock — thy  won- 
drous melody. 


The  Iliad  of  Homer. 

Done  into  English  Prose  by  Andrew  Lang,  M.A., 
Late  Fellow  of  Merton  College,  Oxford;  Walter 
Leaf,.  Litt.D.,  Late  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge, and  Ernest  Myers,  M.A.,  Late  Fellow  of 
Wadham  College,  Oxford.     Seventh  Edition,  revised. 

i2nio.     Cloth.     $1.50. 


The  Odyssey  of  Homer. 

Done  into  English  Prose  by  S.  H.  Butcher,  M.A., 
Fellow  and  Prselector  of  University  College,  Oxford, 
Late  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  and 
Andrew  Lang,  M.A.,  Late  Fellow  of  Merton  College, 
Oxford.  Third  Edition,  revised  and  corrected,  with 
Additional  Notes. 

izmo.    Cloth.    $1.50. 


A  Companion  to  the  Iliad. 

For  English    Readers.      By  Walter   Leaf,   Litt.D. 
Formerly  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 

i2mo.    Cloth.     $1.60. 


Landmarks  of  Homeric  Study. 

Together  with  an  Essay  on  the  Points  of  Contact 
between  the  Assyrian  Tablets  and  the  Homeric 
Text.      By  the  Rt.  Hon.  W.  E.  Gladstone,  M.P. 

i2mo.    Cloth.    75  cents. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO., 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


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